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THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN 



DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA 



» 



THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN 

DON OUIXOTE 

OF LA MANCHA 

BY 

MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA 



DONE INTO BKGLISH BY 

HENRY EDWARD WATTS 



A NE^ EDITlOif 
mrñ NOTES, ORBlINjtL AND SELBCTED 



Di FODR VOLUMES. VOL. I. 



LONDON 
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK 

1895 



ru 



PREFACE 



Ik this new ediiion of my Don ^¡¡cote the whole plan of 
tbc work has been aJtered and rearranged, in accordance 
with the new order of pubíication and ihe more popular 
form which it has takcn. The text of the translación has 
been revised and amended throughout, and while nothing 
has been omitted, some errors have been corrected. The 
notes, while shortened and simpüñed, have been considerably 

Íincreased in number. Some few have not been reproduced 
froni the larger edition of i8S8, which was intended tbr a 
[dnited cirdc of students and lovers of Cervantes, as not 
being of interest to general readers, In addition to the 
HSlher subjects more largely treated of in the Appendices, 
tllcrc are now added a chapter on the Spanish Balladi and 
an líiiterary, illustralcd with a sketch map, showiiig the 
cracks of Don Quixote in his ihree sallics. The Index, 
which I have been the first of the iranslators to give, has 
bccn revised and enlarged. 

The four volumes of the text of Don ^¡xoít wíl! be 
supptemented by a new and greacly enlarged Biography of 
Cervanto, which wil! cotitain in the AppenUix a complete 
Bibliography of atl his workí, cogether with the translations 
in all languages. 

H. E. WATTS. 



CONTENTS 

Introduction Pagi xíü 

The Author*s Dedication i 

Prologue 5 

The Prefatory Verses 15 

FIRST PART 
CHAPTER I 

Which treats of the condition and way of Ufe of the 

famoui gentleman^ Don ^ixote of La Mancha 29 

CHAPTER II 

Which treats ofthe First Sally which the Ingenious Don 

^uixote madefrom his village .... 41 

CHAPTER III 

Wherein is related the pleasant method by which Don 

^uixote got himself dubbed Knight ... 52 

CHAPTER IV 

Of what happened to our Knight when he salliedfrom 

the inn 61 



vil 



Don Ouixote 



CHAPTER V 



fUiertin sí cenlinutd iht narrative of our Knight't 

diícster ....... Pagt 70 



CHAPTER VI 

Oflhe fUaiant ani fúmmi InquUimn u/hich the Pritst 
and the Barbtr hild en the Ubrary ífaur Ingfnioui 
GenlUman ....... 78 



CHAPTER va 

Ofthe Second Saüy of our good Knight Don ^ix»te ^ J 
La Mancha 



CHAPTER Vni 

0/lhe gasd luccíii itíhicli Don ^ixote fiad in ihtttrribU 1 
and ntver-befsrt-lmagintd Adventure ófthe Wind- 
m/VA, viith other tvtnts worthy of happy nm- 
brance 



CHAPTER IX 

ÍVheréin is decidid and tnátd the stupmdoui batltt 
fougkl biiween the gatlanl B'ncayan and the valiant 
Manckegan 112 



CHAPTER X 

Oflht pkasant confabulatían tuhich passed bttween Dan 
^¡xatt and Sancho Panzas h'is ¡quire 



Don Quixote 



CHAPTER XI 
hat happtntd lo Don ^uixate with certatn Goat- 
trdi ....... Page 1 2g 

CHAPTER XII 
Of tt/hat a Goatherd told thase tvha were with Don 

^ixole 138 

■ CHAPTER XIII 

^^^nterein is tindudid the story 0/ ihe Shepherdess Mar- 
^^H c/a, wiik olher matten - 147 

^" CHAPTER XIV 

tyhtrán are centained íhe deipairíng venet ef the dead 
■^ íktphird^ vjith Bther unlookcd-for matters 162 

^^k CHAPTER XV 

^^^V^ertin h rtiattd the unfortunate advenlure v/hiíh 
happenid 10 Don j^ixote vjhen he fell tn with 
(rrtain evil-minded i'anguesans . . . ■ 1 75 

» CHAPTER XVI 

what happened le Don ^¡xeíe ihe Ingenioui Gentle- 
man in the inn whieh he imagined lo be a eastle 186 

CHAPTER XVII 
Wktrñn art eaalinued ihe innumeraí/e troubíei vjhíeh 
hí bravt Dan ^ixote and hii gced squire Sancho 
^énza fndnred in the inn, which, ¡a his damage. 



ki looi/or 



ailíe 



199 



Don Ouixote co^ent, 

I CHAPTER XVIII 

ffherein are rtcaunled the caUaquies whieh Sanche Panza 
held with hii master^ Don ^uixBtCy tuith athtr 
advenluref worlby a/ being relaUd . Page llt 

CHAPTER XIX 

Of ihe leniihU diseoune tuhich Sanche held with hit 
Alaster-y and af the Advenlure which kappened te 
him with a Drad Bndy ; with ather notahlt In- 
cidtnts ........ 228 

CHAPTER XX 

Ofthe adventurty niver be/are ¡ten or heard of, achieved 
by the ijahrous Don ^uixote of La Mancha, with 
¡css pertl ihan any ever achieved by the mast famaui 
Knight ¡n the tvorld ...... Z40 

CHAPTER XXI 

ffhieh treati ef tht lafty adventure and the rich wínning 
af Mambrino's he/mft, with oiher things which 
kappened lo our invincibU Knight . . 158 

CHAPTER XXII 

Ofthe ¡iberty which Don ^ixote gave te leverat unfer- 
tunales tuhoy much against their wiüy wtre bting 
carried te where tbey had ne with to go . . 275 

X 



COKTBim 



Don Ouixote 



CHAPTER XXIII 

Ofthat which happened to the famous Don ^ixotr^ 
the Sierra Morena^ which was one of the rarest 
adventures which are recounted in this truthful 
history Page 291 

CHAPTER XXIV 

fVhereiH is contained the adventure of the Sierra 

Morena ........ 309 



APPENDICES 



A* — ^The Romances of Chivalry 
B, — ^The Story of Amadis 



C. — The Family of Amadis 
D. — El Paso Honroso 
E. — Dulcinea del Toboso . 
F. — ^La Mancha . 



342 
355 
356 

364 
367 



XI 



INTRODUCTION 



My purpose ¡n this work is to tell thestoryof Don Quixote 
eo English readers as Cervantes, his creator, has told it ¡ 
observing, so far as the diíFerence between the Spanísh of 
the íixteenth cenrury and the English of the ninetecnth 
irill allow, the same simplicity, clearness, and dtrectness of 
bnguage which are the distínctíve attributes of the original ; 
and ever regarding ¡t as my first duty to be feithful to the 
lext and to the author. To this end threc things chiefly 
4IC necessary : First, a truc and laithñil translation of the 
tcxt of Don Quixote, without mutüation or abridgment 
or addition : Second, a full commentary in cxplanation of 
ibc innumerable references to boolcs, to events, and to persons, 
aj)d in elucidation of the manners, customs, idioms, characters, 
and phrases, which either time has rendered obscure or the 
mn^latorsand commentators have made unintcUlgible : Third, 
a biography of tlie author, with a survey of the time and the 
condilions under wh¡ch he hvcd and wrote, which is the one 
thing, abo\'c all, essential lo the true understanding of his 
book. 

Th«prophccyof Cervantes, put into themouthofSamson 
Camuco, has bccn more than fulhlled : Na ha de haber nación 
ni letigua donde no se traducá. There is no naiion which has 
not tramlatcd Don Quixote into its own tongue. The 
book of Spain has become the common propcrty of mankind. 
Ercry litcrature has its Don Quixote, as it has its Bible. 



Don Ouixote 



There is no language bui has becji cnrichcd by the coinage 
of Cervantes. QuJxote, Rozínante, Sancho Panza, Dulcinea, 
Maritornes — they are words in cvery tongue. In a sen»e, 
and to an extcnt which the aulhor himsclf could hardly have 
anticipated, proudly confident as he was of the fortunes of 
this child of his genius, Don Quixote has become " ihe 
plaything of intáncy^ the sludy of manhood, the idol of oíd 
age." To say that there is no boolc in the world so popular, 
is to bear but scant testimony to the triumph it has achieved 
ovcr readers of all natíons, all tastes, and all ages. Biblio- 
graphy can hardly keep pace with the number of editioos 
through which Don QurxoTE has passed. There are some 
300 editions of Don Quixote ¡n all languages, of which 
more than a half are other than Spanish. A book which has 
passed the ordeal of translation so bravely proves itself to be, 
¡n spitc of what its author himsclf has said in discouragemcnt 
of translators, onc eminently adapted for translation, The 
Spaniards continué to maintaín, in spite of all these proofá 
to the contrary, that Don Quixote is untranslatable. 
Richard Ford, who had so much in his own genius to make 
him a competent translator of Cervantes, has declared it to 
be "a mortal sin for any man to read Don Quixote except 
in the original." No man, of course, who desirea to Icoow 
Cervantes should be content with a translation. The duty 
of the translator, as Goethe said, is but that of a marriage- 
broker, whose office it ¡s to síng the praisra of the veiled 
beauty, and kindle a desire for her possession. My pUTpO» 
is not to keep any one from his salvation or hts happincss by 
substituting the likeness for the original, but to guide ihc 
seeker after the perfcct bliss to the heaven bcyond, 

Of course, ii is truethat Don Quixote, like every other 
book, loses by translation. Hut though thríce blessed are 
they who have command enough of the noble Cssttliao 
tongue to be ablc to read Don Quixote in the original, 
it b Gomething like a paradox to say that a book which has 



Don Ouixote 



borne so much transktion — which, in spitc of the translators, 
is still popular — cannot be transiatej. Thís ¡s che one cjuality 
which gives to Don Quixote its unique place among the 
boolcs of the world ; that, however badly it may be rendcred, 
however roughly treated, in the baldest and driest versión it 
ncver ceases to be readable. Something of the delicate aroma 
escapes, as with the choice wine of its native La Mancha, 
ihe Vai-de-piñas añejo, in the process of transfer. The grace 
and the spírit which are ¡n the form itself cannot be " done " 
into any other language. The characteristic Cervantes 
flavour, the ever-flowíng under-current of humour, the pky 
upon words, the sublle half-tneanings and double-meanings, 
the fascination which resides in the style, whose carelcssncss 
\i itself 3 grace, — ail thís no transistor can hope to preserve. 
Something, however, may be achieved, — of ihc much whích 
ha» bcen attempted, — by the bold and loyal spirit who shall 
be contení to abide in a due respect for the worlc, with which 
is indissoiubly connected a reverence for the author. He 
who shall foilow his text closely and ask for no other inspira- 
tion — who shall put away the temptatíon to decórate the 
pbin words in his own manner — who shall not moclc the 
grcatest of humorísts with the vain endeavour to bring him 
into a line with " the humour of the times "^for him the 
■drenture may yet be reserved. 

ÍThe ideal of a truc translación seems to be best indicated 
August Schiegel, when he bids us " foilow step by stcp 
Ictter of the scnsc {den Buckstaben des SÍnne¡\ and yet 
euch part of che innumerable indescríbable beauties which 
da not lie in the letcer, buC hover about it, likc an intelleccuai 
spirit." The curse which Voltairc has pronounced on the 
lilcnl uanslator notwithstanding, there is no boolc which 
lempts to literal translation lilce -4Dcis Quixote. The 
luiguacc ¡5 always simple and clear ; the construction, though 
carcicss and irregular, is easy and direci. The meaning,^ — at 
lc3it onc meaning, — it is always possible to give in a foreign 



Don Ouixote 



pittálb i» tile vcry easc with whicti 
into any tongue with a Romance 



language. Yct thcre are 
the Spanish seems to fit 

root í as the fete of somc who have gone bravely into conJician^ 
suceso^ gracioso^ diserelo, and come out with " condition," 
"succcss," "gracious," and "discreet," has painfully illus- 
trated, The letter has IciUcd. The spirit oniy — is a delusion, 
a will-o'-thc-wisp. The truc salvation is in something whicil 
is neither, but the spirit ef the letter; which is ihe only thing 
the honest translator has to regard. In the case of Don 
QuixoTE the temptation to break away from the text Í3 
almost irresistible. The story seems to tcU itsclf. The 
style Í9 so very simple that one ceases lo study it with the 
due respect. For a long time, evcn in Spain, the oríginal 
was regarded as scarcely deserving of the seríous attentíon 
of mcn of letters. Printcd on the vilest of paper and with 
ihedirtiest of ink, it uscd lo be what thcy callcd "illustrated" 
with the most hídeous " sculptures," caricaturing the ICnight 
and his squire, and reducing all the romance, all the pathos, 
and a!! the humour of the story to tlie meanest and rudest 
of ideak, For nearly a century and a half UoN Quixotb 
was only a larger sort of chap-book for the million, England, 
it may fairly be said, was the first of all the nations to 
recognise the writer of Don Quixote. The fint translation 
— that of Shelton — was the English. The first edition of 
the text, in a shapc worthy of the author and befitting a 
dassic, was an Englísh one, — that puhlished tinder the 
auspices of the great Englísh Minister, Lord Carterct, in 
1738. The first commentary in any bnguage was that of 
the Rev. John Bowle, printed at Salisbury in 1781, in an 
edition whose valué has scarcely yet bcen duly estimated. 
Lastly, and as a final proof of hcr sympathy wíth Cervantes 
and regard for his work, it is England who has produccd the 
greaiest numbcr of translations of Don Quixote, from the 
author's lífetime to the prescnt date. Spain may have 
bcgotten the child, but England has been iiis foster-mother. 



Don Quixote 



Of the Engíish translators whom I have now to spealc of, 
Thomas Shelton, the carlicst, is deserving of much gradtude 
far what he did to popularise Don Quixote in this country. 
Who Thomas Shelton was I have utterljr feÜed to learn. 
He remains nominis umbra^ without a single word in any 
biographical dictionary, or any mention from a cotitemporary.' 
That he had a competent knowledge of Spanish, — perhaps 
more than any of his successors had,^is, I think, sufficiently 
proved by his translation ; which, rude, careless, and itnperfcct 
ai h is, must still be rcckoned as one of the most spirited 
and the most genuine that has ever been done in English. 
That the original book of Shelton had a great success is 
sufficiently proved by its scarcity. It was bethumbed out 
oí cxistence, so that only one genuine copy, so far as I 
know, survives — that which passes as the first edition being 
3 rcprint made to match the Second Part in 1620. Shelton 
tells US in bis prelace that he did it (meaning the First Part) 
" in the space of fbrty days " ; that he then threw it aside, 
and " never once sct hand to review or correct the same," 
his "many aftairs hindenng him from undergoing that 
Ubour"— alJ which is extremcly probable, to which the 
ítatc of his tcjct bears witness, Although a rough and 
slovcnl)' picce of work, it is an honest attempt to convey 
the spirit of Don Quixote into the tongue which English- 
tnen spoke in that period, Shelton was fortúnate in being 
ablc 10 use the ianguage of Shakspeare to express the mind 
of Cervantes — not, índeed, that the Ianguage which he uses 
is the bese equivalent for Cervantes' Spanish, The ianguage 
tn which the Spaniard wrotc was more advanced and more 
ingfaly dcveloped than was English in the reign of Elízabeth. 
i then at the very zenith of her greatness, and in 



I flush of her golden age of literature. England v 



s still 



probable that Shrllon wii one of t 
Eill of Nottíngbun when 
pace bctWKD SpiJD inil Eogiiod i 



Don Ouixote 



almost " in the gristic," with a. literature yet " mewing its 
mightv youth." The Etiglish of Swift, perhaps, tmaga more 
feithfuUy the Spauish of Cervantes ihan any other style we 
have in England, whílc it also approaches nearest to the 
style of Don QuixoTE ín clcarness, dircctness, and in the 
tascination which lies in deÜcate and highly-wrought fsndcs 
expressed through a natural and simple médium. 

Shclton seems to have based his translatton of tl)e First Part, 
which was ürst publishcd in 1612 (in Shaicspeare's as well as 
in Cervantes' lifctime), on the Brussels cdidon of 1607 — an 
edition of some interese as bcing more carefully printcd tban 
the previous Spanish ones of 1605, but entirely wíthout 
authority, and prabably a piratícal enterprise, without the 
auihor's knowledgc or sanction. Shclton's Second I^n^ 
which is much inferior to hís First, was prínted Ín tózo. 
At the same time was rcprimeil the First Part, as translated 
by Shelton, wiihout a title-page, to match the Second, and 
malee the Don Quixote complete. Together, the two 
Parts constitute the very earliest recognición of Cervantes' 
great work in any country ouiside of Spain, and are 
a very rcmarkable evidencc of ihe influence of Spanish 
literature in England at that early date. Shakspeare migbt 
have read Don Quixote in Shelton's EngÜsh before he 
died ; supposing that be had not read it in Cervantes' 
Spanish, 

The next after Shelton to turn Don Quixote into 
English was John Phillips, the nephew of Milton, who may 
be dismissed in a very few words. In an evil hour he 
conccived the notion of adapting Don Quixote to "the 
humour of the age," He feU into oblivion speedily, helped 
thereto by a shaft out of the quiver of Swift. The third to 
entcr the lists was Motteux, Ín 1712, whosc versión has been 
as much over-praised as that of Shelton, from whom he SttAt 
largely, has bcen neglected. That Mottcux's versión of Don 
Quixote still continúes to be prínted — evcn atiains to the 
xviii 



Don Ouixote 






ilcad 

É 



dignity of an editim de luxt^ witii elegaiit and cunoiu 
ctcbUigs, must be acceptcd as a proof of thc imdying popukr 
íntemt in the boolc, rather than of thc merit of this particular 
transbiion, which all SpanUh scholars and truc Cervancists 
iU agrcc wi[h Ford is among ihc worst. Of all the 
English versions of Don Quixote, Motteux's is the onc 
remote from the spirit and genius of Cervantes, 
ux was, incieed, not wanting in a spírit of a sort, but 
spirit whoEy alien from that of his author. He was 
indc&tigable writer, or rather manufacturer, of books 
which were turncd out according to the demand, with mucb 
slciU and ncatness, after the manner of his nation. He was 
a naturaJised Frenchman, a refugee from Roucn, who must 
havc acquired an extraordinary proficiencj' in the English 
language to have moved the wonder of Dryden — 
— thai a foreign guest 
Shoald cvcr match the most and match the bese. 

Besides retatting tea and carrying on the business of a general 
dealer in Lcadenhall Street, Peter Anthony Motteux wrote, 
or was at the head of a company which wrote, poems and 
plays with grcat ease and in singular profusión ; all of which, 
in spitc of Dryden's praisc, are now forgotten. He was a 
\aA hand at a translation ; and of all the wares be dealt in, 
translations of Rabélais and of Don Quixote seem to 
■K brought him the greatest profit while he lived, and 
ing fáme since his deaih.' To what exteni he himseif 

MoltíUI mí 1 buiy, builliog man. i wrt of jock-of-all-trirfa, who WM *d 
xnd kept ■ míicelliBeoiu «tofe st thc lign of the "Two Faní," nar 
idli Houte. whoc be ntiileil. accafdiag to hit IfUct in che Spuuor 
JiAucry 30tb, i-ii), T(U, Mulini, Arnick, Plítuia, and Silki of the newen 
hoiik* odn, prologiiei, tnd tnaiUtiom. He aven tlut " the foreign 
lew >{(cpub)c than the farrign boolu. J tnnilalcd Kaitisii 
Dm ^jfinu." Molteoí made a miieriUe tad, beíng fonod murdcred in a 
it Temple Bar io Febtuujr 171!. There Í> an even ñler ttaty ai to 
dntb — 1 grolaquely rlblil file which, by 1 pcHlical retribution, iccnu 
bt DDl nnfitlitig to one wha lai^l coane handi on Dtn üluimi. 



Jtaucry 

m 



Don Ouixote 



was rcsponsiblc for the versión of Don Quixote wbich goes 
by his lume, ic is now impossible to decide. The original 
edttions — and ihere have been many since the firsl of 171a 
^-announccd ¡n the títle-page thal the translatíon ÍS bjr 
*' various hands, pubÜshed by Mr. Moiieux." Ozell, wbo 
helped in the translation of Rabelais, is said 10 havc been 
the chief hand under Mottcux ; but how many others therc 
might have been of the crew wc have now no mcans of 
knowing. The worlc bcars manifest signs of a loase and 
unequal colla bo raí ¡on. Of Motteux's qualificaiions íót the 
task of supcrvising a translation of Don Quixote there 
is no evidence whatever. He had a grcat reputation fbr his 
knowledge of languages ; bul whether among ihe languages 
he Icnew Spanish is to be included may be strongly doubted. 
His innumerable blunders, his ignorance of common Spanish 
custotns and manners, his poverty in the way of illustration, 
his persisten! avoidance of djfficulties in the text, his entire 
want of sympthy with the author, and his general un- 
Spanish (so to speak) tone throughout, proclaim him to be 
oniy one of ihe numerous prctcnders who, on tlie strcngth 
of a superficial colloquíal acquaintance with the language, 
have Hattered themselves and their readers with the beüef 
that they are compcient to interpret Cervantes. Motteux's 
style is a coarse, tawdry, ribald, graceless stylc ; not without 
a certain rough humour of ¡ts own, but a humour discordant 
with that of Cervantes, and of all English siyles the most 
unlike the Spanish. The hberties which Motteux permits 
himsetf to take with his original are quite without excuse as 
they are without parallel in any translation of a great classic 
He seems to have imaglned that his solc duty was to tell 
the story of DoN Quixote without any regard to the 
manner in which it had been lold befóte by Cenantes. He 
tramplcs ruthjessly on ali the delicaic graces of the Spanish, 
blurring the narive tints, deckiag the author with fancíca 
not his own, loading &lse humour upan irue, and produdng 



Don Ouixote 



SDinctiiing which is an outrage upon art and upon truth — 
1 moclc burlesque Knight Errant, a Sancho conscious of his 
own drollery, nay, a comic Don Quixote — than which lálse 
astc and irreverence can no ferther go.' 

After Motteux carne Charles Jarvis, — better known as 
Jcrvas, and a painter, — the fríend of Pope, who gave his 
ñame to a translatíon of Dos Quixote first brought out by 
tiic booltseUcrs in 1 742, which has been more often reprintcd 
titán any other, Jeiras himself, a gcntleman from Ireland, 
uid 2 very bad painter in spite of his eulogist and pupil 
Pope, died in 1 739, so that he could not have revjsed the 
work to which the ñame of "Jarvis " was carelessíy attached 
by ihe booksellers. Of his Don Qvixote it cannot be 
ud what Pope wrote of some of the bcaudcs whom Jcrvas 
púnted, that it will — 



i 



— bloom in hís coloun for a thousand y 



u the aothority of Warburton, Jarvis' own friend, we have 
Pope*s saying of Jarvis that "he translated Don Quixote 
without knowing Spanish."* Certainly neither h¡s Itnow- 
ledgc of Spanish ñor his mastery of English appears in the 
book which goes by his namc. Although tree from the 



few triftlni eorrectiom ind «lleritioni. Lockhart mide it Ihe mtdium of gíving 
U íit world bñ trnulalian of the Spuigh Ballidi, a tranitatíon ijuitc u la»c 
md u UBlike tht orígiail >• that to which it m> tickcd. Lockhart, thungh a 
TTTiti <t fioe tute aad of ^tidlam ja^f^mail, had vrry liltle Sponlah. 

• Só John Hawkini, in hii Li/i o/Dr. Jehaon, telli a curioui iiory ibout 
J*rñ and bi* ttacatitian. "Thf (act íi }mu laboured al it for many yan. 
tal eoslil Ttitkt bot littlc progrfM, fot. bcing o painler by profasíon, bí had not 
beet « tcin tomtd to wriCc, and had no itylc. Mr. Tohidii, the bookidler, tecing 
tUi, fB|Ealfal tbc ibought of cmploying Mr. Broughton, the ruder it ibe 
Ttmfle Chinch, tbe anthor *aé editar of auodry publiatÍDni, who, u 1 have 
teiB infsnned by a fiicad of Toman, aat híinidf dowa lo Mudy the Spaniah 
|aa|Ba|r. and ia 1 fi!« montha acquired, ai wat prctraded, lufficicot Icnawlfdgs 
Ihrrirf to fin t« tbe wotld ■ tnnilition of Dsn ^¡xotí in tbr tpiríi of thi 
tVttinAU oii 10 which ia prefixad the oamc of Jarvis." 

xx\ 



Don Ouíxote 



glaring errors of hía predecessors, and from somc of 
worst offenccs against the spirit of Cervantes, Jarvis is duU, 
common place, an<t uiihumorous. He has not the natve 
felicity of Shclton in difficult passages, though he IrequenCly 
borrows from the oíd translator. Híb versión Í3 generally 
correct and judlcious, but ccrtainly not fkíchful, and it ¡s 
not casy to discover why it has becotne so gcnerally accepted, 
unless it is that Jarvis' dulness has served him for a warraní 
of morality. Chíefly on the strength of his own profusc 
professions of piety, Jarvis has been rcgarded as the one 
interpreter of Cervantes who says nothing calcuUted, in the 
words of the proprietor of Mrs. Jarley's Waxworit, to " bring 
a blush on the cheek of ¡nnocence," ' As fbr the venioa 
of SmoIIett, whích was a commission from the boolcaellers in 
oppositíon to those who published Jarvis', what may be said 
of it is that he execuled his task in the full spirit of h¡s 
commission. The author of Humphrey Q'inktr was 
with a genius not without affinity to that of Cervantes, 
but unfortunately he neither Icnew Spanish ñor his author. 
He seems to have done h¡s book out of the French, — 
ctumsily, and with as small a regard fbr the text as even 
Motteux. 

I need go no further tnto the chatacters of the oUI 
translators, my predecessors. As to the two recent 
latíons, which are more directly the competitors with this 
fbr the favour of aU láithfiJ Cervantists, ít would be 
unbecoming of me to speak. That I am not contení with 
them sufficiently appears in this present undertaking, 

The adventiire may be perilous, but the hsts, at leai^ 
are not closed to the avensunrai. The field is still open to 

' Attiched to the ta\-¡ editioni of Jtrvu !■ "A SupplODenl u the 
Tnnilator^ Preüce." <ic3ling with the principia lad pnctíce of"the 
ehimliy," taM to he " coramoninitei! hy i lamed writtr, well known 
llttniy wotld." Ttiii w» Biihop Warbuiton, of wbote dagnutíim. irrosHKc, 
■nd hollow, pompoiu pedinlry chii etuy is ■ vttf cholee (pedmm. 



Don Ouixote 



ill i ihough the prize grows more and more remóte as the 
boít of the mantenedores increases. The principies on which 
I havc based this new transktion of Don Quixote may be 
briefly statcd. The first duty of the translator is to malee 
scnse of what is written. If a plain, intelügible meaning 
can be given in words correspoiiJtng with those of the 
original, then such words should be chosen. Foran English 
hook ihcy must be EngUsh words. AIl archaisms and 
conceitcd forms of locution^all verba] surpriscs, new 
ooinages, and modern picture-words — all " tafFeta phrases, 
silkeii words precise "—all pieces of " preciousness," for 
which ihere is no paraUel in the original, musí be 
ícnipulously avoided. There is no boolc in which extra- 
vagante and afFcctation are more out of place than in Don 
yuiXOTE, the most simple and sensible of books ; which 
has for i(s very aim ihc suppression of the false romantic, the 
cxposure of mock enthusiasm, of charlatán chivalry. Of 
course, Ccn'antea himself so me ti mes uses archaic and 
alFected words ; but these are put where they are proper, 
in the mouih of one whose brain had been turned by the 
nading of the extravagant books called "of chivalries." 
[ QuixoTE, when he is on his stílts, uses the language 
ftich the knights, his ever-present models, used in the 
To find fault with the author for niaking his 
lonages speak " according to the trick," as some of 
lates' critics, Spanish and English, have done, is absurd. 
e mighi as well censure Shakspeare for the rant he has 
pnt tu the mouth of Ancicnt Fistol, or Walter Scott for 
nuking Edie Ochiltree talk Scotch, When Cervantes 
himself is speaking, the language is ever pbin, clear, and 
graccfui,— his words, exccpl when he intends to be jocose, or 
ddibenicly to wrap up his meaning, so simple that any 
pcoKUii in Castilc may underscand him. The English 
irrtnsbtor myst in this follow hts author, so far as the 
I ^ou^Ccs of English will allow. Again, there ¡s the 



Don Quixote 



e of Sancho Panza and of thc peasants and clowiu 
in the story. They, of cour^e, talk in thc 
■ tongue, which however is not, or at least was not, 
so distinct in Spain as it Js in th¡s country. Thc Spanish 
peasant, in the districts where good Spanish is spoken, talles 
Castilian. Where there is no puteis, or relie of anotber 
language, as in Galicia and in Catalonia, and except where 
the speakers deliberately use slang or the dialect of 
Germania} thc speech of the lower ciasscs ¡n Spain is noi 
vcry difFcrent from the speech of the higher. The 
Andalucian drops thc lisping c before thc short voweis, clips 
his words, turns thc doublc // inio z.} and the single / tnto 
r, and takcs other liberties wíth thc classic tongue, bul his 
speech is less a degradation than a national dialecc. More- 
over, there is a nearer approach lo social equality, — an 
inheritance probably from the Arabs, — between master and 
man than was ever the case in England. Therefore thc 
attcmpts which some of our translators have made to degrade 
Sancho by putting his speeches into vulgar, provincial 
English, are as absurd as they are uniruc to the original. 
Sancho taiks, as we!l as behaves, in his governorshíp, as no 
man would talk or behave who had been broughi up an 
English labourer; ñor is there any ¡nconsistency in this, 
such as the transbtor nced troublc himself to modify or 
correct. Thc bcst results, I belícve, are lo be obiained, as 
1 havc cndeavourcd to obtaín them, by following the text as 
closely as pOssible, departing only from it wben a literal 
adherence would lead to obscurity or absurdity. There are 

' CervuiBa ii ihc [luiic iliing of Spiía, more piCTOlcnl ía Ga'nMtt 
time in Andilocii Ihan in any uÜigi profince. I( Íi definal by Don Stlottluí 
CoTirrnbíai, ¡d hú valoable TVnrg át U Lrngm CamlLnu (publiihcd iliarlIjriAB 
Üie díte of Dm ^iireii), ai (/ laigmji dt la •hjiamita — " thc lingiuge oí Üie 
roffiínty "—the idíom o! Ihc Lauíilloi ind Üit CorttdíIlM, in vMch Cuninln, 
U hU bookt ihow, WB< ■ proficiRii. Crmuraa hu id diclionary lad Id 
grimniar, ind mol not be confaiinded wtth Rominy, irhích li ■ jiigon hued 
on Hmduiuai. 

xxiv 



Don Ouixote 



some idioms and peculiar terms of phrase, of course, which 
cannot be rendered plainly into any corresponding English. 
The only proper way wilh these is to render them by 
larallel English idioms, when such can be found ; if not, 
thcn by the nearest English equivalents or analogucs. 

To sum up the dudes of a translator: he should above 
all seek lo bring the work translated inio a shape as nearly 
rescmbling the original as possible, not in the general 
outlinc only, bm in the form and colour of every detall and 
icccssory. A I way s remembering that he has to make 
in English book out of a foreign one, lo be read by English 
men and women, the transbtor should endeavour to make 
ihc author spcak instead of speaking for him. To do the 
showman to such a man as Cervantes is a presumption 
intolerable— all the more unpardonable seeing the exquisite 
art with which Cervantes a voids being the showman to Don 
QtnxoTE. The translator should efface himself, for it is 
not he whom the public havc come to see, but the author. 
To intrude onc's own nineteenth-century personality into 
nich a book as Don Qüixote, is an offence as gross against 
good mannere as against art. A worse crime than this, 
howcver, is to deck the author as well as his book in your 
own colours^to put on him your Hvery— to make him 
ipcak after a set manner— to torture and twist his character, 
s wdl as his work, into conformity with some lántastic 
ulcaJ in the translator's brain. A P'renchman who translated 
Pbntus in 1719, one Gueudeviüe, tells us ¡n his preface, by 
war of rccommending his work, that he had spared no pains 
'*fMir mettre ce viiux comique a la mode." To bring that 
tn'nijr amiijue known as Miguel de Cervantes into the mode 
by making him talk like some other comic personages, 
more modem, is almost as gross an ofTencc against truth and 
mturc Bs to make out DoN Quixote to be a son of political 
manifestó or missionary prospectus, which is a fentasy wilder 
tfaati any which Cervantes took up his pen to díspel— a 



Don Ouixote 



romance more cxtravagant than any which helped to lurn 
Don Quixote cnizy. 

I have endeavoured to kccp free from this sin at Icast, 
letting Cervantes declare hímself in his own way and in hís 
own words. 1 have not tried to pul any meaning to the 
icxi deeper or other than the words wiU bcar — to add anj' 
grace or humour of my own to that of my author. The 
duty of cvery translator ¡s, as I hold, first to oblitérate 
himself. The Engliah is but the vcsture in which the 
Castilian appears. It would be bad manners and worsc tastc 
to iet the form within be disguised or dimmed by the cloth- 
ing. A prosc translation cannot be too dear and simple, short 
of baldness and obscurity. A translator's business is to Iet 
bis author speak, not attract atlcntion to his own languagc. 
In the case of Don Quixote, the plainest and most ludd 
of boolts, to use other than the very clearest and simplest 
language in transbtion is a special olFence and a críme 
un par dona ble. 

The text I have followed in my translation is ihat 
which must be regarded as the best avaüable up to the 
present time — certa¡n!y the most authoritatiie — namely, the 
fourth and last edition of the Don Quixote published in 
Madrid in 1819, under the direction of the Roya! Spanísb 
Academy. The basis of this edition is that of i6o8, the 
thifd printed by Juan de la Cuesta, and the only one whích 
the author ever took the trouble to revise, though he revised 
it but partially. Of this edition of 1608 the Academy say fn 
the prefáce to their own that they haxe selected it as the 
basis of their text, "regarding ¡t as the last cholee of the 
author and preferable to the first {of 1605), which was 
neither made under his eyes ñor received the last touch of 
his hand." There is, indeed, no positive ei'idencc that 
Cervantes ever corrccted his book aftcr the manuscrtpt left 
his hands ; but what sort of evidence could we have .' The 
universal tradition and belicf among Spanish scbolars, con- 



^Rrkoo. 



Don Quixote 



firmcd by all imernal evidence and probability, have been 
that Cen-antes, ihough he did not correct any of the 
ctÜtions prínted in 1605, did correct and alter ihat of 160S. 
In 1605 he was living at Valladcüd, and there was some 
excuse for his neglecting to revise his book printed at 
Madrid. In 1608 he had changed his residence to Madrid ; 
uid tt is not possible to beÜeve that, with the book printed 
under bis eyes which had been so succcssful and brought 
him so niuch fame, íf not proÜt, the author should have 
delibcrately allowed his Don Quixote to be publíshed anew 
wiiliout correction. This theory, however, monstrous as ¡t 
is, has been adopted by Señor Hartzenbusch ín bis editions 
of Don Quixote published at Argamasilla, and is defended 
and actcd upon by the btest of Enghsh translators, Mr. 
John Ormsby. I have díscussed the qucsdon clsewhere Ín 
the varíous passages whcre it arises, and so 1 need not open 
the controversy here. Suffice it to say, that if we reject 
ihal which has been the betief of all Spanish scholars up to 
the time of Señor Hartzenbusch, we must believe, not only 
that Cervantes valued his work so little as not to care to 
reviie it whcn he had the chance of doing so, but that he 
iJiowcd some material alterations and additions to be made 
in ihc text by some one who, — seeing that 011 this theory he 
b the author of one of the most delightful and characteristic 
passagra Ín the book, namely, the lameniatíon of Sancho 
Puuui over tlie losa of his Dapple, — must have been of a 
genius akin to the author's own. The notion that "the 
prinicr, apparently proprio motu^ supplied this passage," secms 
to me to be as extravagant as that oiher theory of the 
nuitCT, iliat Cervantes purposely mutilated and delaced his 
unry in order to make it rescmble the romances of chivalry. 
How, thcn, if thcse addilions were not made by Cervantes 
Uim>cl^ does it happen that he makcs no mention of the 
indcpcndcnt and unautboriscd corrector when this very 
mattcr of tbc robbery of Sancho's ass Is discussed I The 



Don Ouixote 



semitivcness which Cervantes shows in ihc Sccond Part m 
regard to Avellaneda's base attcmpt lo intrude upon his ficid 
and spoil his worlc, is eotirely ¡ncomporiblc witli thc temper 
of onc who was so absotutely inditferent to the fetc of his 
book, cven after ít had achievcd an enormous and unprece- 
dentcd popularity, as not to care who altered ít or addcd to 
it in a material passage. 

To leave this question for the prcsent, it is enough to 
say that thc text, as given by thc Spanish Academy, musí 
be regarded as the most authoritative in Cervantes* nativc 
country, and therefore the one which an English translator 
is bound to follow. The edition of 1819 does ceriainly nct 
pretend to give a perfect text, and it must be admitted xhM 
it leans over-much to the conservative side in the matter of 
emendation. Still, this is a good fauli, and I hope I shall 
be accüsed of none worse, In a fcw places I havc preíérred 
to take the reading of Clemencin's edition, and in gome 
have acceptetl even the emciidacions of Hartzenbuscíi, reclcless 
and licentious as for the most part thcy are. With every 
effort to follow what appears to be the best text of DoK 
QuixoTE, I must acknowledge that sometimes 1 have failed 
to matee scnsc of the words as ihey stand ¡ and I need have 
the less hesitation in making this admission, seeing how 
oficn the good Ctemencín himself, the most learned of the 
critics of Don Qlixote, confesses himself puzzled to malee 
out the author's meaning. 

I come now to the second of the features which I clatm 
to be distinctive of this edition of Uon Quixote, namdjr^ 
thc commcntary. To read a book without notes to distnict 
one's attcntion, is a great deÜght and a greater privilcgc 
A commcntary is tmflattering both to the book and to thc 
reader, as it presumes the one to be obscure and the other lo 
be dull of com prehensión. But time, though it has de&lt 
more gcntly with Don Quixote than with any other worJe 
of the same age, has made some amtotation neccssary. The 
xxviíi 



Don Ouixote 



itonishing thtng, consideríng ihe purpose for which Don 
>OtXOTfi was written and its intense spirit of nationalism, 
eing, as it is, the quintessence of EspañoUsmUy is that ¡t has 
irvivcd to be so well understood, or, at least, so wdl likeJ, 
1 di languages. "It is so clear," said the author himsell, 
thu there is nothing to raise a dífEcuIty in it." In another 
hcc, however, he confcsses that his siory will " need a com- 
leniary fbr its undcrstanding." ' From being a satire on 
íic popular taste, a parody on the prevaíling fashion in readíng, 
flyilig shoi at a folly long since dead, Don Quixote has 
orne lo be a classic, and Ülte every classtc it must have a 
ommcntary, Although what makes it popular is the story, 
-vrhich wc can go on reading with delight ¡n any versión 
owevcr bald, and in any text however bare^ — it is not for 
he Hory alone that Don Quixote should be read. Even 
' WB could pass by without enquiry the innumerable passages 
rhere it ¡k cvident that the author purposes to imítate some 
Ction, or burlcsque somc specch of a character ¡n one of the 
anances which ít ís his declarcd object to destroy, it would 
e neccssary to explain the references to historical events 
nd pcrsons ; the allusions to contcmporary books and thcir 
uchors i tbc customs, manners, and mode of life of the 
eople anitdst whom the action of the story talces place ; the 
cography, natural history, and character of the country 
rhich is the scene of the advcntures ; lastly, the idioms, the 
iDverbs, the local sayings, and the ballads, which are so 
bundant ihroughout the book. And if the Spaniards them- 
:|ves, as the elabórate commencaries of Pellicer, Clemencin, 
nd Hartzenbusch bear witness, cannot read Don Quixote 
ridiout the hefp of notes, how much less can the English 
taáet afibrd to do without them? Granted that some 
oiet are neccssary, there is no stopping short of a futí 
ncotary. Such I have endeavoured to supply, to the 
f my ability, partly from original research and personal 
> D« ^Binn. Pin II. eh. ¡Li. 



Don Ouixote 



travel, partly and pcrliaps more largely, — as must be thc 
with an Englishman annotating a foreign dassic, — out o; 
the works of the Spanish critics and commentaiors. 

The chief of those from whom I ha\'c takcn siich 
as are not originaJ are the Reverend John Bowle, the firsi 
of all thc commentators on Don Quixote, native or foreign ] 
Don Juan Antonio Pcllker, the editor of the vcry creditablc 
edition which followed Bowle's in lygS^after taking much 
from it i Dun Diego Clemcncín, whose commcntary is the 
amplest and the most complete of all ; and Don Juan 
Eugenio Harizenbusch, who has publishcd two cdítions i 
Don QuixoTE in 1863 and 1865, besidcs contributing 
suppl ementar)' volume of notes, chiefly new readinga of his 
own, lo López de Fabra's l^csimile reproduction of the firat 
edition of the Two Parta. There have been of late varíous 
other detached volumes and papers of criiicism and 
mentary on Cervantes and his works, by Fernandez-Guerra 
y Orbe, Barrera, Valera, Aseiisio, Aribau, Mainel, and 
numerous other of the new school of Cervantistas, to wfaom 
I have been more or less indebted. Unhappüy, there is noc 
much of material valué to glean from these gentlemcn. 
Their enthusiasm, in this age of strong reaction in lavour 
of Cervantes and Don Quixote, takes the form chiefly of 
turgid verse, in ecstatic culogy of El Principe de LOS 
Ingenios Españoles, of patriotic exaltation of the virtuea 
of El Manco de Lepanto, with a complaccnt enumera- 
tion of atl that foreigners have done ¡n honour of thc great 
Spaniard, or elabórate calculation of the number of times 
Don Quixote responds or Sancho speaks in the coursc 
the narrative. 

Chief among the commentators, and worthy of all honour 
for what he has done for Don Quixote, is the Englishman 
Bowle, whose edition, with an elabórate commcntary ¡n six 
voluntes, though it fell almost dcad from the press, has now, 
ifter a hundred years of ncglect, met with its duc mecd ai 



Don Quixote 



rccognirion cven in Spain. Bowle was an English clergy- 
man, a canon of Salís bury, who, as he tells us, spcnt fourteen 
years in learning and in reading Spanish in order to bríng 
oot a Spanish edition of Don Qiíixote, with annotations, 
Bowlc was ncvcr ¡n Spain, and his Spanish is sometimcs an 
occasiun of stumbling to himself and of sarcasm to his rivals. 
Bul his honesty, industry, and patience are worthy of aJl com- 
inendation. He h specially strong ¡n his dassical references 
m¿ in his quotations from thc Italian poets and the Spanish 
romances of chivalry, some of which, perhaps, no one but 
him»clf has cver read since Don Quixote appeared. For a 
rcason wbích needs too long a story to explain, the Iialian 
Barettí, the well-known friend of Dr. Johnson, pursued 
Bowle and his literary adventure with great maügnity, 
wríting an ill-natured book atyled 7i/íJií/ron,' of which thc 
oli^ect was to ridicule the idea of any one who had never 
becn in Spain commenting in Spanish upon Dún Quixote. 
Next to Bowle as a commentator stands Pellicer, who did a 
good dcal to explain o!d customs in bis notes and to clear 
ap obscure allusíons in the text, conveying much of his 
Icvning from his English predccessor, whom he forgot to 
thank. Aftcr hím carne Clemencin, whose commentary, 
ihough not dcserving of ali the praise given to it by Ticknor, 
must be regarded as the most notable literary monument 
which has cver bcen raísed to the memory of Cervantes. I 
Icnow of no book which has heen the subject of so minute, 
tearching, and profuse a scheme of criticism and illustration 
a» that which appears in Don Diego Clemencin's six volumes 

> raUWr» mcaiu i "giddypale," m " hare-briined fellaw." The book wdi 
pihiáfacd io LoBiloa íd 17S6. and it an 'apj, ipluttcijng. pnroimancc, full o( 
•cnom mi bad Ungnigc. Thc nipectiblc Bowle Íi called naaj fóul auna, 
nth u "OurjDcOutang," " Moniituí Cabenu," "Dr. CoBllon*"i icd i> 
gaertUj (ddriuH >i "JicL" That 'u i Iraiiitiaa thil Baretli, who ¥ru i 
It cnature, belíeveil that Bowle hid wiítten > paragriph (o hii 
I. in th« matlR of hii tcbl for murda, m tbe MsmUy Rei-itvi. Poar 
uid to han bwn hiitrnid by thc ill-iucccu of bi) book. 
XXX i 



Don Ouixote 



of Don Quixote, publisbcd in i833-39> Thcrc ís scarcely 
a point or turn in the story whcrc wc do not fUid Clcmencin 
lying in wait for us with a little note (ofíen a very long 
one), a refercnce, a correcrion, a judgmcnt, or a remarle on 
the stylc, the matter, or the man. Oí Clemcncin's Icaroing, 
his industry, and, on the wholc, his love and rcspect for the 
author thcrc cannot be any doubt.^ Of judgmcnt, or good 
taste, or modcsty, or sense of proportion he had very little. 
He has but an imperfcct sympathy with the genius of Cer- 
vantes. He has very little humour of his own, and wil] not 
altow anything to be good which he docs not understand. 
He frequently mistakes his author's meaning — confounding 
irony with eamcst j and his inability to comprehend the 
differcnce bctwcen Cervantes and Don Quixote amounts 
to a kind of íntellectual colour-blindness. HÍ5 remarks are 
very often purely trivial and impertinent. He is hypcrcriticaJ, 
exacting, and cantan icerous. He stands over Cervantes likc 
a schoolmaster over a dull pupil, with ferrule in hand, and 
sublimciy unconacious of the profane Ubcrties he is taking 
with a grcat geníus ; — pruning, cutting up, and layíng on, 
as if he had to do with a school-boy's excrcisc instead of the 
finest book in the world, For his numerous ofFcnces against 
good taste, his dulness, and his insensíbility lo the subtler 
bcautics of the book, Clcmencin has bccn the fevouriie butt 
of succeeding critics.* With all his fiíuhs, however, and 1 
shall have frcquent occasion to differ from him, we cannot 

' Thcre ü ) tiadition, how well fouDdcd I do aot Ímo«r, tbongh HirUenbuKh 
icdu to hint thal it ii Irue, that Clemencia hid got hold or «ttaín miatiictipU 
of one DoD Runoa Cibtcn, th' lothor oC >n Etymologícil OiciioDiry. lad med 
them u hb ovm in the cumpoaition of hit cammentary. 

* Hii chief enony, and Ibc moil rídoububle cbiRipian ún tbe Cematilt 
■idc, U JuD Calderón, ifac lutbor of la admiriblí litlle book, entítled Ctnatm 
tnuJUaJB (Madrid, lí;^). Cildnon wit ose of ihc ilJuitriaui band af Spmnh 
patríoli who. in dii^it it Ferdinind Vll.'i lytlcm of government, cimt ta 
Engtind. He lumed ProtoUnt, ind bedme Profntor of the Spaníth Unpujc 
in KinE'a CoUege, London, dybg ia iSj^. He wHthefilticr of aurdiitiapiiibcl 
piintK, Phitip Culdcron, R.A. 

xxxii 



Don Ouixote 



do wiihout Clcmencin. He has ceriainly done more than 
iny one else for ihe clucidation of Don Quixote. On 
al] points connectcd with the national manners and customs 
-on qucstions of grammar and orthography— on the tradi- 
!¡tms, the hisiory, and the líterature of Spain he is generally 
i. safe guide ; to the fbreign cranslator al least, indispensable.^ 
To him, as well as to Bowlc, I must here express, once for 
ail, my deep sense of obÜgation for assistance which ¡t would 
be ledious in each particular Lnstance to acknowledge — lo the 
formcr for the greater number of my refercnces to Spanish 
books and customs, and to the latter for his labours in the 
(¡uotation of parallel passages from the Italian poets and the 
romances of chivalry. 

I have been accuscd of making too much of Clcmencin. 
Bul be can neither be ignored ñor avoided. He filis the 
largest space in the worid of Cervantic criticism. He is the 
grratest among the Spanish commentators. In bulk he 
equals all the rest together, and his commentary is as long 
as the tcxt of Cervantes. His industry, zeal, and Icarning 
will always keep his ñame fresh. Indeed, except that he is 
dcttitutc of humour, and is insensible to irony, and does not 
iindcrstandhisauthor,and isoutoftouch with DonQuixote, 
Don Diego Clcmencin must be reclconed a very capable 
commentstor. By the mass of his countrymen he is still so 
conudcred, in proof of which there is lying before me a new 
edition of his Don Quixote, in che preiace to which a fond 
admircr, Don Alberto Lista, speaks of him as "one of the 
ino»t tcarncd humanísts and philologers of our nation," and of 



■ Toinrilt the tai of hú uith volóme Clemnicin Kcini to be vitilc 
■ooc ^Bimsiag KnK of raaont for hiving bcen too hard on Ccrvuil 
trk* lo mikc op ht hii pul (rcedoiiu with Dan ¿¡uiiMt by iaiiie u 
|isibelliag> nf dclighl over Üul gooil itiough ungrunnuticil work. Id 
tlum ilw «unmm lot of thoie who hin ha<t lo do wílh Cervanto, 
cnik*. WfDnunUtori, ud Irintlitoii cianot help loving Ihc min cvcn 
ih*t' flMxJt hb booli. 

XXXÜi 



Don Quixote 



his book as " the best work of philology whJch we have m 
our languagc"! 

Of Don Eugenio Hartzcnbusch, himself a conspicuous 
man of letters, a poet, and a dramatist, who has enriched the 
language of Spain with many compositJons of real merit and 
permanent valué, I confesa I cannot spealc with much respect 
as a commentator on Cervantes. His services in the cause 
of Cervantic literature in the editing, in conjunction with 
Don Cayetano Rosell, of the magnificent edition of Cer- 
vantes' works printed at Argamasilla in 1865, have becn to 
a great extent neutralised by the rashness with which he 
cngages in the perilous worlc of conjectural emendation. 
What Cervantes Jeft as the tcxt of his Don Quixote v 
not held by Señor Hartzenbusch to be good cnough. He 
takes it ¡n hand, thercfore, to re-fashion it ; not only alteríng 
words and phrases which he cannot undcrstand, or which 
he imagines the author did not write, but dislocating the 
narrative, cutting episodes out of one chapter and putting 
them inio another, — -introducíng ideas and expressions into 
the text without any warrant whalever except his own 
belief that he (Hartzenbusch) Icnew better what Cervantes 
should, or mighl, or would have wrítten than Cervantes has 
choscn to write. For this reason, and in spite of the 
ingenuity and acumen which are manifest in Bomc of 
his emendations, I have had very httie to do with Señor 
Hartzenbusch. 

There has been of late years an extraordinary revival, 
both in Spain and England, of the intcrcst in the works of 
Cervantes, In his native country the interés! in the Manct 
de Lepanto has become a cult, which has assumcd, after the 
Spanish manner, ihe form uf national self-ídolatry. Those 

■ The Juim Criiiev of Albota Lítla wu writlcn for a inppleinaitil vol 
to üie origioil Clrmnidn which nevet ipfcattd. The new eiütioa jiut pubU«twd 
(1B94) omití nathlng aoJ correcu aolhing. Il forma part of ■ dcw terla of 

BitBenia aiiica. 



Don Ouixote 



Uio were once ashamed ofhiin for having broughi ridícule 
■ I foUies essentially Spanish, and thcrcby made his country a 
^ughing-stock to foreigners, have now grown to be proud of 
the fineat product of thc national genius — of the Principe de iai 
hgenioi. This revival or growth of enthusiasm for Cervantes 
ímong Spanish mcn of Ictters has led to the removal from 
hií name of much injuatice and neglect from which it has 
tuSered. Among the people Don Quixote has never ceased 
m be talten seriously as something more than a book of 
humour- — as the Bible of Spain and of Spanish Ufe. 

Thc best commentary which Don Quixote can have is 
thc Ufe of the author ; and this I have reserved, in this 
edition, for a final and supplcmentary volume, In this will be 
contained all that has been freshly gathered of a life the most 
«dveniurous, plcturesque, and moving ever lived by any man 
ofletters, told more fully and wíth ampler illuscration than 
»ny biography of Cervantes yet undertaken. The whole 
«rork will be complete in five volumcs, 

This translation I claim to be in every part, prose and 
vene, original (except in one small poem only), so fer as it 
is posfiiblc for any new versión of a book so often translated 
as Dos Quixote to be original. 

As every educatcd Englíshman knows, or thinks he ought 
to know, some Spanish — a delusion based on some early 

[uaintance with Latin — I need not occupy my time iii 
ling my readers how to pronovince certain leading words 
;h occur in Don Quixote. I presume every one knows 
that ^ui>ís/í— which we are now required to spell fijóte — 
ti a word of three syllables, with the accent on the second, 
and the X or the_/ to be sounded, according to the established 
canon and practice, as a guttural aspírate. Thc change 
from n to y in all cxccpt certain words, where the oíd x 
MHind {tki) is stiil rctained, carne Ínto láshion about the 
tniddlc of thc cightccnth century. Befóte that pcriod x and 
j were uscd itidiscriminately. In ihc three centuries which 
XXXV 



Don Ouixote 



havc elapsed sincc thc writing oí Don Quixote, Ihe Spanísh^ 
like eveiy other European tanguage, has altered its pro- 
nunciación. My own opinión is ihat Cervantes called his 
hero ^ishetf, which was thc oíd pronunciation of *, re- 
tained in the French ^ichotu. Thcre is evidence to show 
that the change in thc sounding of the letter x carne into 
üuhion early in the reign of Charles V^ whose Gertnan 
courticrs brought in the guttural aspiratc.' Thc word 
^uixete, with its derivatives, has become acdimatised in 
every European language, being soiuided in each accord- 
ing to its own genius and rule. Thereforc, in an English 
boolc I prcfcr to retain the oíd English form ^¡xott — 
^iiissí. It has become naturahsed as an English word, 
the parent of thc English words ^'txotU and ^¡xit'tsm. 

As to Sancho and La Mancha^ we may combine 
corree tness with Englísh use and cünvenience witbout 
any effort. It is just as easy to say Santcha and La 
Mantcha as to say Sanie and La Aíania, and more 
correct. Rníinantf or Rocinante — the z and the son e 
being unisonous and interchangeable — has thesc Ictters 
soundcd, in puré Castilian, like thc dental Englísh th; but 
thosc who prefer, as I do, the plain oíd pronunciation haré 

I The nle, iccordíng to the Oringrujia Cíiitüsüa, which canin the ■ulhoríly ef 
the Jt/d/ Acudicia de It Lf^ua, U thit x ihouM be retiíned Íd kU wordf of pQft 
Litin origia, while j ihsnld bt uied in wordi from [he Aniñe. Bul ihü rale i> 
diirquded bf modera Spviuh irrileri, who nte i and j íadUcrimiiulel; 
^^here being ■ coat]HrBc;( to luppteH poor r allogether. 7*hiu we hm 
rjwmfio íad ejiríiía for rxeirtpio and txtrdio^ which are barbaríinu « grat *■ 
aprrkucm for ttftritKV. Among the proofi thal r wu oiiee pronounceJ tt 
Engliih ¡k, túf] be aádaced the fict that \a thc tnnilitnation of Atalñc yntit 
iatD Spuiiih the lound ik (whích in Arabje bal not changed) ii rcndered bj x 
or j—n taxa for itiAa or fúsJut—fuTHx for firiatih—xjrifi for tkcra/t. Aal 
whit ii the CaitiliaD ^jalá bul üie Anbic óuK allaiT Sa IiK u in lílj 
MÍDiheu, in Ihe Appendií id Perc>vil'> Spiniíh nnd EngUah Dictionary, dÍTMIi 
thc Icamei (bal the Caitilíaa j ii lo be pronoueccilu in Frcach j'iiuii <nd jrlikc 
the French ilt—tji, lilce aic mA /uto Vikc Jiaiie. Xéii wu deirly Sivn wfaca 
we tuek from it iitrrj. In Mallorca to thii daj they iliU ntain the oíd WBté 
of *, alling ■ «ounlry-hooM r'iAi. and ipclliag it raxt. 



Don Ouixote 



:he satisfaction of knowing that in che majoríty oC Spanish- 
speaking countries, including all America, south and cetiiral, 
the letter is pronounccd as in Engiand. 

In regard to the spelling of the proper ñames throughoui 
Do^ QuixoTE, 1 have adhered generally to the English mode, 
as being most in character in an English translation, not 
binding myself lo nny hard and lasi rule, li Is not always 
easy to say when the Spanísh ñame has become sufficiently 
lamiliar to be used, in such a boolc as this, in its English 
fbrm. We are all agreed lo say Sevüle for Sevilla, and 
Biscay for Biieaya ¡ but there is no sutficient reason for 
pfcfcrring Saragossa and Pampeluna lo Zaragoza and Pamp- 
latiú. In ihe case of the ñames of the héroes of feble, it is 
difficult to lay down any ftxed rule ; but I have generally 
Englished the foreign namc, whcrever an English form of il 
«vas known. I have preferred, however, Orlando to Roland, 
sedng that nearly always the allusions in Don Quixote are 
to the Icalian hero of Boiardo's or Aríosto's poem. While 
they are by origin one, the Italian Orlando dift'ers matcrially 
frorn the English or French Raland^ just as eíther dífFers 
froai the Spanish Roldan, II would malee confusión, how- 
erer, were 1 to vary the ñame according to the several 
Oountrics of this general Latin hero (who was not Latin 
U all, bul Frank, if he was anythíng] ; so I have preferred 
tD cali bim Orlando throughout. And for such a form as 
Va¡átnjÍHt)t I need plead no excuse in substítutíng Baldtvin^ 
tay more than for lurning Arturo or Artuí into Arthur. 

rcg;ard to such an absurd ñame (however consecrated by 
) as Don John — half Spanísh, half English — I have 

fcrred the whoUy Spanish Dsn Juan. We do not say 

Sir Ptáro or Sir Hinrique. The Oriental and Arabic 

namcs of persons and places I have given according to the 

tnglish Romanised forms ¡ as Hadgi Murad for Agi Maraio. 

do not pretend, in all this, lo follow any scientific schcme 

tranililcratiun, bul, amídst the multilude of systems of 



v iy n 

wt 

■p«f" 



Don Ouixote 



spclling, have lookcd only to that which is most easy and 
femiliar to the Englísh rcadcr. 

Thcre reuuins onc other duty for me to discharge in 
this place, which is to record my acknowledgmcnts to 
[hose who have hclped me in thls arduous underiaking. In 
expressing my obÜgations co Don Pascua] de Gayangos for 
much kindly sympathy and assistance, especía.]Iy m the 
bibliographical part, I mcrely repeat what has become almost 
a stereotypcd phrase in the prefaces of English books relat- 
ing to Spain or to Spanish líterature. There is no livtng 
scholar of a knowledge so accurate and profound on aU 
matters relating to the books of his country as my good 
friend Don Pascual, and no ene of a good-nature and 
liberality so profuse and untiring. To aU the other friends 
who have assisted me by their advice and sympathy, I bcg 
to return my warmest thanks, praying them to be contení 
with this general acknowledgment of their kindncss. 

To ñame all the authorities which I have consulted in 
the course of this work would occupy too large a space, 
apart from the various editions of Don Quixote in the 
originai and in translation (which are duly entered elscwhere 
in the Bibiiography of Cervantes) ; I need only mcntion a 
few of the books which a/c of best worth and of most use 
to the translator and illustrator of Don Quixote — including 
those which, whether of worth and use, they are compelled 
to consuJt. First among those, as an introduction to the 
Btudy of Spanish literature, is the excellent Catahgtu af 
the Ticinar CaUection in the Boston Library, '879, fi>r a 
copy of which I am ¡ndebted to the courtesy of the trustces. 
It includes over 8000 volumcs, all relating to Spain, formlng 
the bulk of the library coílected by Mr. George Tickjior, 
the historian of Spanish literature, arrangcd and classifíed, 
with many notes and corrections, by Mr. Ticknor himsel^ 
Don Pascual de Gayangos, and other eminent scholan. 
The collection is perhaps the largest and most varíed, if not 
xxxviü 



Don Quixote 



'.ht most valuablc for rare and costly books, ever made by 
■--.V private individual, in Spain or clsewhere ; as the catalogue 
- a modcl of lucid, orderiy, aiid intelÜgent arrangemcnt. 
In this rcspcct it is a worthy supplement to Ticicnor's Hislory 
t/Spaniíh Littrature. There is nothing so good as this history 
k't fulness of knowledge, extent of research, and sobriety of 
uJgmcnt, in any language. The Spanish transtation by 
Gaysngos and Vcdia ¡n four volumes (1851-56) contains 
ütnc additional matter. In his second voliime Ticknor has 
1 judicious estímale of Cervantes and his worics, which does 
001 eiT on the s¡de of enthusiasm. The Biblioteca de Autores 
EipañoUSy published and edited by Rivadeneyra, and now 
cctendcd to sixty-four volumes {184.6-72), claims to include 
the whole body of Spanish literature " from the formation 
of the Lnguage to our own days." The form, in imperial 
octavo, double columns of small print, is unWely and awk- 
ward i ihe volumes, by various editors, are unequal in merit. 
The coUcction is impcrfect and incomplete ; but so far as 
the series extends (it has stíU to include some of the chief 
monuments of Castüian üterature, as the Crónica General of 
Alfonso X.) it is of extreme utility. The volumes on 
Cervantes by Aribau ; on Quevedo (the first two} by 
Fernandez-Guerra ; on Lope de Vega (includirig only a 
selection of his miscellaneous writings) by Hartzenbusch ; 
Romancera General, by Duran ; the Librot de Caballerías 
rluding the foiu' books of Amadis and the Sergas de 
•landian) by Pascual de Gayangos ; the Ntruelislas An- 
Urisres and the Novelistas Posteriores á Cervantes, by 
Rosci — are those which will be found most useFul foiT 
ihe studcnt of Don Quixote. Of guides to the language, 
firet and bcst is the Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana^ Oy 
Covarrubias, a real treasure to the Sjpiish 
lobr, cspcciaJIy A-aluable for the study of Don Q^xote, 
Covarrubias was a coniemporary of Cervan,t,K, who 
ilaiju inany words and antique phrases which \¿/e gone 



KLí 



Don Ouixote 



out of use, Therc are two cdítíons of Covarrubías — thc 
firet of i6ii and tbe second of 1674 — of which tbc second 
is to be prefcrrcd as much thc ampler. As an ctymologist, 
Covarrubias, born before thc days of scientific philology, 
\s more quaint thají sound ; but he has learning and wisdom, 
and is especially entitled to our gratitudc for his study of 
vulgar locutions and antique homespun phrases. Thc large 
Dictionary of the Spanish Acadcmy in six vols. folio (1726- 
39) is a worlc of much labour and rescarch, but deBcícnt, 
as all Spanish dictionaiies are, in the etymologícal pan, 
and chicfly valuable for ics examples, A second edition, on 
a scill larger scale, was begun in 1770, but procceded no 
fenher than the letter C — a common "thing of Spain," 
Since ihen there have been some dozen editíons of the 
Academy's Dictionary in one foÜo volumc, containing more 
words than the larger edition but with the examples from 
authorsomilted. Percival's Dictionary, Spanish and Englisb 
— the second edition enlarged by J. Minsheu (1623) — is use- 
fut for ihe oíd words and their meaning in the English of 
the age of Cervantes. Of the Spanish biblíographers the 
best is Salva, who published his hrsi catalogue of Spanish 
books (priced) in 1826, whcn he was a boolcscUer in London. 
This has since been enlarged into the handsome Catáhge dt 
la Biblioteca dt Sahia, by his son Pedro de Salva y Mallen, in 
two volumes, Valencia, 1872. The new catalogue include» 
not only thc boolcs which wcre in the possession of Vicente 
Salva (who united lo his trade of booicseller the profession of 
'scholar and crític), but all early Spanish boolcs of note ¡ so 
\^t it is now a complete Spanish bibüography of thc highest 
ínthority. The Calühgo del Ttairo Antiguo Español^ by Caye- 
tano , Alberto de la Barrera, gives a list of over one ihousand 
wr¡te||, alphabetically arranged, with the tilles of 4300 plays, 
besideíC^.oo interludesand&rcesand lOQautBt. Itis the best 
guide uh^ti-Th the vast and intrícate wilds of Spanish drama. 
For ÍIIu?fextons of Castílian spcech, domestic cusloms, and 
^ xl 



"O». Don Ouixote 



parallel forins of life, among the popular books anterior lo Don 
QuiXOTE or contemporary with Cervantes, Celestina cannot 
be ignored. This extraordinary boolc— rather a dramatised 
romance than a " tragi-comedy," as it is called — was oftener 
pritited in Spain than any other before the appearance oF DoN 
QuixoTE, and had an ¡Tímense vogue throughout Europe. 
As a picture of Iife and manners during the tatter half of the 
fifteenth ccntury, it is of extreme intercst, and for its purity 
of ttylc and the apirit and truth of its characterisation has 
always been grcatly esteemed by Spanish scholars, as it was 
by Cervantes, There is a capital English versión by James 
M>bbc, under the punning pseudonym of Diego Puede-ser ; 
jnd A poor transtation in FVench by Germond de Lavignc, 
with some of the coarser passages omitted. Ñor must 
iitiarHU be left out, the best, as it was the earliest, of 

Le ptcaresque school, by the great Hurtado de Mendoza, 
I must continué to belicve despite of M. Morel Fatio. 

fhc author of Don Quixote, with whom Lazarillo was a 
lavouríte, ccrtainly impÜes that he toóle it for the work of 
Mendoza. Of the proverbs which figure so largely in Don 
QuixoTE I have spoken elsewhere. For the history of Spin, 
u> far as it is concerned with my book, the Chronicles of the 
iiHÜvicJual Icings may be consulted, of which the most useful 
collcciion ¡s thai made by Sancha in seven volumes (1779- 
8"), which embraces the whoie of the romantic period from 
Alfonso VIII. to Enrique IV., inciudíng an account of the 
Pat9 Henrosa and of the great Constable Alvaro de Luna. 
To ihcse may be added the Chronicle of Juan II., printed al 
Valencia in 1779, which deals with the longest reign and a 
Hine most fi'uitful in romantic incidents, when chivalry in 
.0 was in fuUest bloom. The Crónica General of Alfonso 
■that vast mine of romance and legcnd — the quarry out 
which so much of bailad and song has been hewed — is stül, 
to ihe reproach of Spanish scholarship, to be found only in the 
oíd edidons, buricd in the dim black-Ietter of Zamora and 
xli 



time 

fe 



^^ Don Ouixote 



VdbdoiHfi.^ Thereare i ^^ j,^ ^tmo, d« «rb <.f Dow, 

pendant U M»yín f^je. the ¿ ju « wtó lfellrinltiti«»»f '8*'- 
is of incstimaWe valué, u -^ut hc^ r «J, fa m mñap^ W tte Dd 
which tíUs nearly the whole ot o.rratítt..'- jj^^ic. Tht GbsJry 
of Spanish words derivcd iVom tlrt'n phiasi^ ^^j^ ^ poiy wd 
Engelmann (2nd edition of 1869) is six vois. ^ j^' us^fij. Ai 
an Arabist, Dozy is of the fim rank, w.-.-ch, bt.^g|a( ¡jonenwre» 
illumíne the dark places of Spanish hÍ3tory '-"'vlo^.i^ ^. ojc (Jk 
— entírely cclípsing Conde and putting out otrfil -.;,ff nane 
lights. For the gcography of Don Quixote thcre isnoriO 
bctter popular authority than Richard Ford. Therc is only 
one Ford for thestudent of Spain and of Spanish — the Fotd in 
the original edition of 1845, The book has bccn ruthlessiy 
muiilated and detaced since the first cdiiion, from which, » 
the author says mournfuUy in ihc second, "many are the 
wild Iberian ílowcrs which have becn rooted out," so ihat hy 
gradual whittling away it ís nowonly a haiidbook for louríso, 
ñor so good as others, The ^iagt di España, by Antonio 
Ponz, in eighteen volumes (1786-94.), is very useful for In- 
formation respecting the ancient monuments and remains, 
as they were bcfore the spoliations of the French, who made 
use of Ponz, it is said, to guide thcm to the articlcs best 
worth stealing. Besides these, the principal sources of 
Icnowledgc on all points connectcd with the literature, the 
hislory, and the character of Spain, there is a large amount of 
miscellaneous learning in the shape of cssays, notes, and di*- 
quisitions on Cervantes and Don QuixoTE, from which 
I trust I have profited, scattered throughout many of the 
ephemeral pubücations of Madrid, Seville, and othcr centres 
of the ncw fiíith in the Prince of Wits, such as the Crónica 
de ¡01 Cervantislai ; the letters of Don Pardo de Figucroa j 
the efFusions of that mad wag, Adolfo de Castro, who is 
always discovering some new work of Cervantes ; the more 
xiii " " 



Don Ouixote 



r pieces of my excclJent fricnd José Maria Asensio ¡ the 
kbrations of Benjumea ; the monographs on special points 
■ Cervantes' genius of Gamero, Caballero, Fernandez, 
Vejon, and Sbarbi ; the various discursions of Hartzen- 
; the lucubrations of Tubino and of Maínez ; ín the 
Uniaríe Pintareseo, the several revistas of Madrid and Seville, 
I Menéoy che Concsrdia, and ocher rcviews, magazines, and 
xlicals — generally of a short life, which has long sincc 

In bringing to a conclusión a work in which I have been 
cngaged, more or less busily, for the last tweniy years,— 
bcgun in the midst of the cares, diatractions, and turmoil of 
a harassing and jealous profession, which has been Co me a 
perpetual and ever-abiding source of delight and comfort, — 
fulüUing in my regard, in a very special sense, that object 
fbr which the book was designed by íts author, according to 
his own words, — I am sensible of an emotion which has in it 
more of pain than of plcasure. It is the taking leave of an 
oíd friend, who can never more be the same again^the 
companion of my leisure, the solace of many dull and weary 
houn. I can scarcely indulge my readers with the hope 
which is implied in the common form of an author's ikrewell 
lo his book. 1 cannot llatter myself that any one will take 
so much delight in reading this translation of Don Quixote 
as I have had in making it. The míschief is that it is done, 
and the labour can delight no more. 



THE AUTHOR'S DEDICATION 



THE FIRST PART' 



ro THE DUKE OF BÉJAR.' 



CUKIEL, * 



f tke faith ef the gaad receptinn and konour ivhic/i yaur 
ExttlUney accards ti every tind of toáis, ¡He a Prince ¡o weil 
dispcieá lo/avaur ikt Uhrral arts, morí apeciaUy thosi wkieh 
are nct abaied to the lervice and profit of the vulgar, I fiave 
reiohed lo publ'nh the I^fGENIous* Gentleman Don 
QuiXOTE OF La Mancha undcr the ¡heller sf your Exeel- 
Uncy'í mail iUuitrhus ñame, whom, whh the reverente due to so 
muíh grtatneu, I htseteh that you may graclamly receivt inta 

» The Fim Pin of Den ^iimr wii lirjl prlnled by Juan de U Cut«j. in 
i6a;. Thit Dotieition ii wiihnut date, but >9 ihc Ücaice ror the buok ig dsled 
Septcmbci l6th, 1604, ve miy prnnme il lo be wrínen aboul Ihit time, whrii 
Cmnnlet ura> reiidiag it Villidotiil. 

* O. AloDio Diego Lspci de Zualgí y Sotomayar, levcnth Duke of Béjir, 
■■o that tiik in 1601, laé 'tied in l6lq. 

ül, by a itrtnge blnnrier, Barctlimt ía Cuest.i'j leCDnd edition (i6q;]. 
it o( Bunlona" it a title Mticbed lo Spinith royally. 

TI» Wóiil ■■ íaEeniaui " tui, in Englith, Imi it> primary meiníag 

of «riiiy, dc*tr, TErlile in intdlecliui rcMuiec; but evenbid itnol becn h4ltoweil 

b)F auge u bdongUig \o Dwi {¿uiiote, no ottiei ii ivoilible lo the Engliib 

tnnttMM, ThoBth fouoil fiull wilh by ciitia from ihe Gnt, I cunnot doabt il 

VOL. II I 



Don Ouixote 



your freteílrsu, tu ordcr that^ under yeur shadow^ althaugh 
denudtá of that frtc'uus ornamtat ef tUganct and truditien 
with which the work¡ competed tn the houies of the ieamtd are 
v/enl te go elothed¡ bt may venturt in ¡afety to fací the opinÍBH 
afieme ivfio, not contained within ihe boutids cf their ignorance, 
are accustomed to condemn the laboun of otiuri with more of 
r'fgour and leu ofjust'ice. 

Tour ExcelUncys wiídím, htnitng regard I» my good intent, 
will not, I trust, dlidain the poorneit of this kumble offeríng? 

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, 

w» UKd advimlly by Cervinln, ind wil intcndcd to lignífj the tme chinctCT 
«f hii hcro, 11 wfU 11 to \avc ii the key-nole to hii fiblc Clanencin tbinlu 
(he epithel " obKBrc ind cangojncnüy liltlc rcIi<Ítoui." Liter Spiniíh cntio 
hive rccognitcd ¡ti proprirly ind hippLacH. The idjective ír^trásK wu mnch ih 
vague in Ceivinta' lime, » ippLied (o the inventotí or promnlgaton of novel 
■ad línplir ideii, imong whom Alomo Qníjuia, who propoKd lo revive 
liníght-enaniry ii > remedy for the evili of tociety in thal rpoch, míght fairly be 
cliHcd, To hive entitled Don Quiíole the " fool," or the " mid gcntleman," 
al the Hliing ont of the itory, wouEd hive been itauril and liltle humofoni, 
Pellicer'i theory th»t ingtñim ipplin nat lo the man but to the hook, U unten- 
ible. Ccivanlcí bitnulf in leveral patngí» of liU book — in hú Epignpbi to ihe 
•econd ud liiicenth chapten of the Fírit Part. and ai the cloie of the Second 
Pait, repcalt."el iogeaioio Hidalgo." The GcrmiDi hive a verrgood eijnivilent 

' The tridition that the Duke oT B^jir >t ñnl nfuied to have Dim ^büm» 
iledicatcd to hini, hut wii penuided by lh« author lo Xa, him letd a chipter o( 
the boolt. Bíter whíeh he relenlíd, hai bí«i tffened lo elicwhere. That 
CuviBtei fiiled 10 obtiin iny idvanlagc from the Dnkc't patninige ii inppoud 
10 be ihown by the fiel that he dedicaled hi> Second Pan to another patrón, the 
Conde de LemOL Bul it wi> not unmoil for writeri in that age to dedicaU 
portioDi of the larae woik to dilfereBt ptcoai. Lope de Vega oftea did H. 
The Dske of Béjar wat one of thoH moil noled al the time for ihdr affeetiotí 
for the ela» of booki ridiculcd ¡n O» ^ixst ; ind, perhapi, for thii rcuon, ii 
mnch al ihroogh ihr inflnrntc nf hit confeiior, ihe eccleiiinic who ii inppoMd 
lo be alluded to in Pan II. ch. iiiii., ptobably did nat much favour Cervuu*' 
daign, and wat IIÜI lett pleaied with iti eiecolion. 

There ii itrong miau to belicve ihaC Ihii DeiUcaiion, with ita itfeded mi 
irtifidal phraiei of conventionil complimcnl. ii not tlie wark oT Cervinte*, a at 
latí that ¡twaitampercd with by (omeulhei hind. DonEugeaio Hiitaenbmth, 



I he editor cf ibe migníficB 



m of Cervanin' worlct. ptintcd bjr Rívadeneyn 



Don Ouixote 



in lS6}-65 (whoM erilkal mcriu are not c^nal U¡ ¡ti lypogriphical bdutiei), hai 
mide a cnrioni dücOToy, nimcty, Üut Kvcnl of ihc Iciding pbnm bat 
Mcnr, word for word, in the Dedicatitm af hú Poemí (7 tlw cdcbnted Fnninila 
it Hcmn to tbt Maniiiá de Aj-unoate in 1 ;So. Hartioibiucb luppoca Üut 
Ccrvaou*' otifinal Dcdicition wu diffenstly worded, lad thal the Duke, not 
bdaf pkucd witli it, aaied Íl to be iltcrcd by Hme one better provideii witb 
tlut >* pncioiu onumcnt of elegince and erudition with which the worlu com- 
poNd in tlic hoittca oF the lurned m wonC to be compOMd." Certiialj, thia 
Dedíation ii nioal onlike in tooe and ityte to Cervantet' other Dedicilioni, 
iriüeh Im<k a marlud chiracter of lively courtay and ^y indepEndsice. 



PROLOGUE 



Leader -, thou canst believe me without any oath, that 
I would this book, as the child of my wít, were the most 
bcautiful, the most sprightly, and the most sensible that 
could be conceived. But I could not contravene the ordin- 
ance of Nature, whcreby each thi'ng engenders its like. And 
w, what could my sterile and ill-cultivated genius beget but 
ihe story of a mcagre, shríveHed, whjmsical child, full of odd 
icies ncver imagined by any other^ — even like ore who 
engcndered in a prison,* where every discotnfort hoids its 
and all dismal noises have thcir habitation í Repose, a 
chccrful abode, the gladncss of the fieWs, the serenity of the 






prologúelo the Míe SmoüiI Pan AvcUinedi lauo» Cervj 

■ neceiiifilj' «riting ftom ihc eonditíoo hírc alludeii lo; 

i| ttnlteo in a pritOB, ind ihcrefon "quFtulout, gcumbtiDg, imp 

¡ierít, )> uc tbo» who are ín ímprÍKintncnt." 

Thm hive bcen nríoui [hmiei ai to Ihc place whcrc Ccrv 

'ben Ihú Dot^blc child of hii geniui wai cngendínd (v 

y Orbe believa it to hivt been SevÜle, whefc Ccrvautei i 

ilbott iiaprñoninent bjr the Crown on account of bi> líabilily for hii 

II, Simcm Freiré, in I (96. Bol (herc ii nothing lo ihow thjl Cw 



ü,^ 


uioowilh 


L> Manthi >t 


th 


date. The more 


reitooible tfaiory 


ÚMDm 


^.,«, .. 


cooedved in 


ih 


lown which wai 


raade hit birthpla 


whkhw 


■ ArgimuiJ 


1. de Alb., * 




we kno»rCetv>nt 


B to hnve been ín 


rm^ 


boBl .599. 


IB Ihí ClM de 


Mednna, It ii to be 


DOted that Cervan 


*«. .. 


a, thx h 




írit 




-in a priion. T 


CW •<< Mednno uíí 


Mand.— a mli 


nh 


t dog-holf. «hcre i 


»ai impoHible ih 


c;.» 


could have 


«ritlm • boo 


k. e 


ren h»d he hcen permitted to wríte on 


CT 


•hirlitig 


time broügh 


h 


m hit tevenge. In 


thii lime Cau 



Don Ouixote 



gkícs, the mumiur of rivuleis, thc traiiquillity of thc spirit, — 
these have a great share ín making the most barren of muse^ 
to teem and bring forth to the world a progcny (o ñll ¡t with 
hwonder and delight. A fether may happen to have a child 
KUgly and iil-favDured, and the love he bears it claps a bandage 
on his eyes so that he sees not íts blemtshcs, but rather judges 
thcm to be talcnts and graces, and recounts them to his 
friends as parts of wit and elegance. But I, who am a 
step-father,' though I secm a fecher, of Don Quixote, would 
not go with the currcnt of custom ñor ask thec, almost with 
tcars in my eyes, as others do, Dearest Rcader, to pardon 
or dissemble the faults which thou mayst sce ¡n this chi]d 
of mine. Nay, thou art neither his kinaman ñor his frJend ; 
thou possessest chy soul in thy body, and thy frecdom of wÍII 
likc the best of them,^ and art at home in thy housc, wherc 
ihou shouldst be lord thereof as the kíng is of hís taxes, and 
thou knowcst what is commonly said, " Uttdír my cltek tht 



inpts and frees thee from all 
thou mayst speak of the story 
o thee, without fcar of dieir 
- rewarding thec fur thc good 



klng I klir'^—iXX which ex 
respeci and obÜgation, and st 
wholly as it may seem fit 
slandcring thee for the evil, i 
thou shali say thereof, 

I would have wished to present it tú thee, neat and 
naked, without thc adornment of Prologue, or thc endless 
irain of customary sonnets, epigrams, and eulogies which it 
is the fashion to place at the beginning of books.' For I 



Khich h 



Tlie •llmion 






minntcrpntcd. 

Btncngeli, thc luppatiütíout AnUc tuthot. 

' Cmu tí mal finlaik — líl. " likc tbc molt ptínUil," 

' Dlkejí de mi manu al Rii malo i i pravcib. 

• Scjtcc ■ book wii publiibcJ in thut «g» wilhoui iti pretolory wncí of 
lommendalion, Ccrvini» himielf lu'l writlcn munj. luch, >» for ihf Rsmanan 
«Id Jardi„ Eifi'iiM-U o( hi) fricnd Pedro de PtditU [i^j] ind 1584)1 thc 
Ca-iiítiyii gf Lopa Mmldonido (i ;S6) ; the FilU^ Mtrarit^Ja et ASaatO 4c 
BirT«(i;gq}} the ^nat-iaiU of ¡ata Rufo Guticireí (i;g4Í ; the Oii^jOTKHof 
Lope de Vegí ¡1593). etc. 

6 






Don Ouixote 



1 tel! ihcc that, thougli the s 






me some toil in the 
composing, nonc grcatcr had I than in malcing this preface 
which thou art reading. Many times did I talce up my pen 
m wrítc it, and many limes did I lay it down, not knowing 
whxt to say. Once, being in this suspense, with thepaper 
bcfbre me, the peo in my ear, my elbow on the desk, and 
my hand on my chcek, medítating on what I should say, 
therc entered unexpectedly a lively and clcver friend of mine, 
whn, sceing me thus pensive, askcd me the reason. I, not 
concealing it, said that I was thinkíng of the Prologue which 
had to be writien tu the history of Don Quixote, and that it 
hanu»cd me to such a degree that i was inclincd not to 
rite one, ñor even to pubÜsh the exploits of so noble a 
Uiight. For, contintied I, would you have me not troubled 
X what the ancient Iaw-g¡ver they cali the public wül say 
trhcn it sees me, after the lapse of so many years that I have 
siept in the silence of oblivion,' come out now, with ali my 
ycars on my back,' with a legend as dry as a rush, barren of 

Ivention, meagre in style, poor in conceits, and void of all 
U'ning and doctrine, wíthout quotations in the margin and 
inotations at the end of the volume ; when I see that thcre 
e othcr books, be they never so fabuious and protane, so 
U of sentences from Aristotle, from Plato, and from the 
holc hcrd of philosophers, as to astonish their readcrs and 
ake their authors pass for well-rcad men, erudite and 
cloquent? But when they cite the Holy Scripturc ! — You 
will say that they are so many St. Thomascs and other 
doctor? of the Church, prcservíng in chis a gravity so 
ingenious that in one line they paint a dístracted lover, and 

in the nejít deliver a líttle Chrístian homüy which ít ¡s a joy 

Utd z ireat to hcar and read. In all this my book will be 
o ÜM 11 wat ttvfniy-one fan 



> CcrvuLla publiihrJ i 

1 appaied ín prúil u 



wu ia hit li(tf-ci|hlh )«r when the Finí Pirt nf Dnt ^ñn 



Don Ouixote 



lackíng, for 1 have nothíng lo quote in the margín or to 
note at ihe cnd ; ñor even tío I Icnow what authors I fbllow 
ihcrein, so as to sct thcm at the beginning, as they all do, 
by the lettere of the alphabet, commencing ai Arístotle and 
ending wíth Zoilus or Zeuxis, though the one was a libeller 
and a painier the other. My book also wil] be wanting in 
^ sonnets at the beginning, — sonncts, at leasl, whose authors 
shall be dukes, marquesses, counts, bishops, great ladíes, (x 
cclebrated poets ; ' although should I ask thcm of two or 
ihree friends in the tradc 1 Icnow that they would give theni 
to me, and of such a son as could not be equalled by those of 
the greatcst ñame in this Spain of ours, In fine, dcar Sir 
And fricnd, I continued, I am resolved that Sir Don Quíxote 
shall remain buried in his archives of La Mancha until 
Hcaven shall provide some one to adorn him with the many 
ihings he wants, for I ñnd mysclf incapable of supplying 
them through my poverty and shallowncss of learning, and 
bccause I am by naturc too indolent and slow to go looking 
for authors to say what I myseif can say without them. 
Henee come that abstraction and suspense in which you 
found me, there being cause cnough for my mood in what 
you have heard from me. 

On hearíng this my friend, slapping his forehead with 
his hand and breaking out into a loud laugh, cried :^~'Forc 
God, brother, now I am disabused of an error in which I 
have lain all the long year^ I have Icnown you, during which 
I have ever takcn you to be a man of sense and prudcncc in 
all your actions j but now I perceive that you are as fiír from 

dI the age in Üic numbci aiKJ viricly of Ibe canunaidiiar)' venri, by perioni of 
tuik inH tiointncc, whicb be ippuidiil lo hii bookt. HÍi AuBnu, publlibed la 
1604, ju>t bcrotc DcH ^inii, wi> fumiihed with na )«■ ihin tH-enlycishl 
tocoiDÍiiilic mniiW, eontriboted, iRioag oúitn, by iht Príncc qI Fe» (■ tenegjita 
Miwr], tht Duke of Oiuni. the Matijuá de li Mn-ti, the Cuunli oF VUUtMr_ 



y Mi¡i 



e Cerviatelbi 



ol wl 

w 



Don Ouixote 

: as the sky is from the earth. How f Is it 
possiblc that ihings of so linle moment and so casy of 
rcmcdy can have powcr to perptex and absorb a mind so ripc 
as youTS, so framed lo break ihrough and trample undcr (bot 
cvcn grcater difficukies ? This, i' faith, spriiigs not from 
lack of ability, but cxcess of laziness and poverty of resource. 
Would you be convinced that what I say is truc í Then 
hearlcen lo me attentivcly, and you shall see how, ín the 
twinkiing of an eye, I upset all your difficulties and remedy 
sil the defects whích, you say, embarrass and fríghten you 
into givtng up the publishing to the world the hístory of 
your íamous Don Quixote, light and mirror of ali Eirant 
Knighthoüd. 

— Speak, I rcplied, on hearing this ; by what tneans do 
you proposc to fill up the voíd of my anxicty, and reduce to 
order the chaos of my confusión ? 

To which he responded : — The first thíng you stick at, 
the sonncts, cpigrams, and culogies whích you lack for your 
preface, and which should be supplíed by personages of 
wcighi and title, can be got over by your taking a little 
irouble yourself to make them ; and afterwards you may 
baptlze them, putting ary ñames you picase, fathering them 
on Préster John of the Indies, or the Emperor of Trebizond, 
my Icnowleüge there is a rumour that ihey werc 

OU6 poets ; and suppose they were not, and there were' 
and Bachelors to snap and growl at you behind your 

:1c for the truih of ¡t, care not iwo mamvcdis for them ; 
ir ihuugh they should convict you of a lie, they cannoi cut 
iiff ibe hand with which you wrote it. As to quoting in 
the margin the boolcs and authors whence you gathered the 
and sayings you have put into your history,' there 



lo Lope ác Vcgi 



iicpKín ar/i;i¿i, publiihed in 15119, 
»mí enid ilion — ihe mirgini being 
I wiUi nota ttii quililKini. UItcn it nniJoni fram ucrcd uid [uol'iiiw 
I( (onttint nfcrcncct lo the ApocilyíHC, (o AriilMie, lo ihc Toleilan 



Don Ouixote 



is no more co du ihan to manage to bring ¡n pat : 
phrases and scraps of Latín that you know by heart, or at 
least which cost you little paíns to iind ¡ as, fbr ( 
treacing of liberty and captivity, to introduce- 
Non benc pro toto libertas vendítur a 

and ihen in the margín dtc Horacc, or whoever said i't.' If 
you should ireat of the power of death, ruii in presentty 

Paluda mors aiquo pulsat pede piupcrum labcinat 
Rcgumquc turres ;* 

¡f of friendship and the lovc which God commands you to 
bear to your cncmy, come at once to the point by the Holy 
Scripture, which you can do wilh so little research, ajid 
repeat no less than the Word of God Himself: — Ega auttm 
Jicf voiis : dUigitt inimicos vestras. If you treat of evil 
thoughts, have recourse to the Cospel i^De carde rxeunt 
cogitaíients mala} If of the ¡nstabilíiv of fricnds, thenh 
Cato* who shall gíve you hís distich : 

Dance cris fclíi,' multas numerabjí amicos ; 
Témpora li fucrint nutíla, solua cris. 

BrcTÍiiy, to the Veda!, tbe Oankli >f tit Oá, «id tbe Song of S. 
Mcrlin ind to Jercnuah. 

1 Miof, bk. iü. fahli 14. 

" Honcc, Carm., lib. i. od. 4. ' Maiihcw, ch. «v. 

• CcfviBtei qiiDtei here wilh 
(rn'uid, lib. i. tleg. «), ind 01 

' That ihii » • punning nlluiion to Lope Fiüx de Vega ttnnot Iw doulit«d. 
Ceivintci had bitter aate lo ipcak of the iniUbility oS fríEndt, Hnw o( iin 
oldeil, tucb al Víccnlf Eipínel, [uroíag igiinit hün ¡a hi* advenily g tad ihc 
morc^ wh« thcre cune i ludden glam ai lighl inta hi> lifc by ibe papalaritjr 
ichieved \tj Dsn ^i«ii — a boolc wtiich wu the carne of a fiuli oulbanl of 
cnvy and matice apínit ia long-tu9ciÍng mtbor, on the pan oí thf moi of 
tetlfr» of lliil period. Amang Ihem wai Lope de Vega, who, ftom pretendót 
be a cloie fritnd, bícamt /rom I he momentot ihii laok'i polilicotior the I 
Una ennny. 



Don Ouixote 



then 



And wiih ihese littie scraps of Laiiii, atid such like, thcy 
wül takc you perhaps for a grammarian, to be which is of no 
little honour and proíit in these days. As to annotations at 
ihe cnd of the boolc, you may safely proceed in ihís manner : 
if you ñame any giant ¡n your story contrive that he shatl be 
tbe giant Goliath, with whom alone, which will cost you 
almost nothing, you may have a grand annotation, sincc you 
can writc ; — The giant Goíias er Ga/iaik uias a PhiUitinr, 
whom Datjid^ ihe shephird^ slnu with a stone fram a sling in 
the Valí úf Terebinlh^ according to -what is wrillen irt the Boai 
of Kings — in the chapter where you shall find it written. 
After this, to show yourself a man learned in the polite 
Ictters and in cosmography, manage so that in your story the 
ñvcr Tagus shall be mentioned, and you shall sec yourself at 
once with another famous annotation, writing ; — The river 
Tiggus was so calUd by fi King of Spain. ¡t takes ils birth ¡n 
tueh « tfoty and dies in the Ocean^ kiísing the vjalls of the 
fameui dty ef Lishn, and it is reported to have sands of goid, 
eteJ If you should ireat of ihievcs, I will give you the 
story of Cacus, which I Icnow by heart ; if of courtesans, 
there is the Bishop of Mondoñedo,^ who will help you to 

mia, Lais, and Flora, which annotation will win you 
,t crcdit ; if of cruel women, Ovíd will introduce you lo 

[edea ; if of enchantresscs and witches, Homer has Calypso, 
*nd Virgil Circe; if of valiant captaíns, Julíus Cxsar will 
lend you himself in his Commentaria, and Plutarch will gíVc 



for tnikins TtrtimlÁ i 



I Sim. ««1- 1. — CirvintM hu brea tepro' 

n* it ii a Utr. In iht Rcviicd Venion " the vilc of Eli 

c mirgin by the " vale af the terebinth. " The Aribi a 



le Tigui ii ihiu itelcritcd. 



inlerpreted 
le" of (he 



* In tlw Inilet la Lope'i Ar.-i: 



id BBidiiying accouot nf thoKÍunotii 
\i riML Bf Üiit unpreh»! 



I, chipliin and chranklo tn 
i( Antwerp in i6a]. give i par- 
leniu of utiijuity, Luuü, Lii>, 



ú bnMlbt Jown upon himKlf the reproof oí ihe Archbiihop of Timieni. 



Don Ouixote 



you a thousand Alexanders.' If you treat of loves, with 
iwo ounccs of ihe Tuscan you have, you wil) light upon 
Leo the Jcw, who filis you to your heart's contení ; * and, 
if you care not lo wander in fbrcign lands, you havc at homc 
Fonseca On ihe Ltnit of God^ whcrein is contained atl that 
you and ihe greatest wits can desire on that matter. In 
suin, you have nothing more to do than lo ñame these 
ñames and to touch these stories I have told you of in your 
own, and leave me the busincss of putting in the notes and 
(¡uotations, and I wartant I will fill the margins fbr you 
j.nd dispose of four sheets at the end of the book. 

Let US come now lo the citation of the authors, which 
the other books have, and in yours are lacking. The 
remedy for this is very simple, for you have nothing more 
to do than to look for a book which quotes them all, fi-om 
A to Z, as you say.* Then, thís same alphabet you shall 
,put in your book ; for, granted that the líe is clearly seen 
through, il is of no consequence, from the small need you 
have to use them, and perhaps there wáll be some one simple 
cnough to bclieve that you have made use of them all in 
your piain and ariless story. And, should it serve no other 
purpose, at Icast that iong catalogue of authors will be of 
use, to givc, at the fírst blush, authority to your book ; and 
bcstdes, no one wili take the troublc lo asccrtain whcther 
you follow or do not follow them, having nothing to gain 
by that, Moreover, if I take you rightly, this book of youn 



n Hcb 



, J=» 



., ind phyHcian by prafcadoa, n 
in Augiutinun, wratt Dd Amn éi Dlat, n 



DiaUgiJi Jimtri, puUúbeil ■! 

• Fr. Crinivil At FonKca. in 
il BartcloBa io 1594, ind miof ti 

' Anolfaer hil ti Lope, who, lo mvhvI dT bh booki, made > paX di 
Ihr «nlhon he quoia. In hit Ftrtgrim tíicj iR KI oat In ■Iphlbclkil Otié», 
>nd numbn ñftT-fivf. In El ludro ihc l<n 



Don Ouixote 



is in no need oí any of those chings which you say it lacks, 
fbr it is all one inveciive against the boolcs of chivalrJes, 
which never had Aristotlc any idea of, nor díd Basil mention, 
ñor Cicero rcach.^ Nor do the niccties of truth nor the 
calculations ofastralogy tall withín the scope of their tabled 
extra vaganci es ¡ nor are the dímcnsions of geometry con- 
ccmed with them ; nor does rhetoric serve for the refutation 



of thcir 



■guments ; nor does ihe book preter 
any one, mínglíng the human wíth the divii 
kind of motley with which no Christian 
should be dressed. All it pretends to do i' 
bes^t of the imilatíon ín what yon would be w 
more perfect this is, the better will be wh; 
And since ihis your writing ain 
descroy the authoríty and ínflu 



to preach to 
:, which is a 
nderstanding 
lo make the 
ting, and the 
is written.* 
at nothing more than to 
ce which the books of 



chÍTalries have in the world and over the vulgar,' it is no 
busincss of yours to go begging for sentences from philo- 
Kophcrs, maxims from Holy Writ, ftibles from poces, spcechcs 
from rhetoricians, miraclcs from saints ; but on!y to endeavour 
that, simply, in words expressive, decent, and wcll-ordered, 
your pcriods shall come out harmonious and sprightiy, setting 
forth, a£ far as you can attain, or is possible, your intention, 
and cxpbining your ¡deas without beíng inlrícaieor obscure. 
Endeavour also that, in reading your story, the melancholy 
man shall be stirred to laughter, the merry be encouraged in 
hii mood, the simpleton be noi worríed, ihe wítty admire the 
invcíition, the sober not despise it, nor the judicious forbcar 
from commcndation. In short, let your aim be steadily 
fixcd upotí the ovcrthrow of the cvü-based fabric of these 

• Ariilaile, Stlnl Bjíil, »a4 Cicero jre ihtee oF ihc aulhofi cilrd by Lope de 

a hit ¡áJn. 

lerc i> rviileace t>( Ceivutleí* purpoK to make hit boolt > f¡ioÍy, ai ihii 
H Pin of Dm ^mna «Kniiillj' ii. of the booki of chivulnei. 
f Aaptc eiiileDce of the citcni to whinh the boolcí of chjvilrleí intlueflced 
^bcu mi lublt) of the agí. tai ai Xhm popubiilj imong ill cliiKi, ii given 
y Lifi ef Ctmnlea. 

■3 



Don Ouixote 



chivaJric bocks, abhorred of so many yei praised by many 
more i and if this you achicve, you will tuve achieved no 
little. 

I listened in profound silencc lo what my friend s2Íd, 
and his reasonings so impressed me that, wichout question, 
I approved thcm for good, and even out of them chosc to 
make up this Prologue ; whereín, Gentle Reader, thou shait 
see the wisdom of my friend, my good fortune in líghting 
on such a counseUor ai such a time of need, and thine own 
relicf in finding so simple and so guileless ifae story of the 
famous Don Quixote de La Mancha, aboui whom it is the 
opinión of all the inhabitants of the district of the Plain of 
Montiel ' that he was the most chaste tover and the most 
valiant kjiight that for many years has been seen tn thosc 
parts. I would not make too much of the scrvicc I am 
doing ihec in introducing thee to so notable and honoured 
a knight, but I would ask thy thanks for malung thee 
acijuainted with Sancho Panza, his squire, centred in whom 
methinks I give thee all the squircly humours which are 
scaitered through the swarm of the vain books of chivalrics. 

And so, God give thee health, and forget me not, 

Farewell.* 

■ The Pliia of MoDtid, the miia ihestrc of ihe eiplfüti of Don Quiíote, 
md of ill dúuicli of Earopc b^ natnn ihc bul fitlcd fot luch ■ Knight Ein 



Duth-a. 



T of La Man 






' In tbc opinión of Colerídge, " Üiii prefac» it i perftct model oí the genlle, 
evcrywhcrc mtcUJgihle iron^ ia tht bnt fuiyí of ihe Tarlcr «nd Sffuur. 
Eqaitlf Ditonil ind atj, Cennntu ii more •piríled ttun Addiion, whiltt he 
blendi with the lenene» of Swift in ciqaiiite flaw ind miiiic of ityle, iiid. 
ibove all, conlraiti with the lalter by Ihe isveet temper ota luperior mind, whích 
uw the follie» of in¡inltind, and ws> even at the linir luñérinit tcverelj^ uoder 



NOTE TO THE PREFATORY VERSES 



Jatory Verses pretixed to Don ^¡xolt, in buricsquc 
iniiution of the commendatory sonnets with which it was 
ihe fuhion of thc age to herald every new book to the world, 
togcther with all the poetry which is introduced in the story, 
cunstitute the hardcst part of the duty which is imposcd on 
the English translator — a duty scarceiy to be discharged with 
perfcct satisfaction, yet which cannot be avoided. The 
&itbful translator, whatever he may think of thc valué or the 
propricty of these incidental verses, has no option, in my 
opinión, but lo give them as Cervantes has gíven them. 
Hcre, more than anywhere, fideliiy to the letter of the text 
bccomcs a first obUgation ; for the spirit has sometimes 
wholly vanished, oflen It is cloudy and obscure, nearly always 
ii a exirancous from the story and unworthy of the author. 
Cervantes, though a great writer, was not a good poet. He 
bimself, in a touching passagc of his l^aje del Parnasa (¡n 
If thc bcst of his poética] effbrts), confesses to his failure : — 

yo que siempre trabajo y me desvelo 

Por parecer que tengo de poeta 

Lt grtcia, que no quiso dainie el Ciclo. 

{I who cver witch, and toil, and strive, 

To show thit J possMs thc poet's gracc, 
The gftee the Hcavenly Powcrs cared not to give.) 



Don Quixote 



The task ¡s rendcred harder for ihe translator by thc fect 
that it is difficuli sometimes to gucss whetíicr, whcn 
Cervantes is silly or obscure, he is so purposely or not^ 
whciher he delibérale!/ malees his verses bad, in order to 
ridicule the practice, or whether they are bad from carelcss- 
ness or lack of the poetlcal spirit. Sometimes it is certain that 
Cervantes, according to his fávourite humour, is ptaying not 
only wíth his crítics bul with his readers. At other times I 
confess I cannot make up my mind whether ihc bad verses 
are made out ofjest or earnest. I have the Icss hesitation 
in admitting my weakncss in this respect, seeing how 
thoroughiy the best of the Spanish critica ihcmselves have 
been mystificd ovcr Cervantes' verses. Among translators 
thc common feult is that they take ihese too scriously, which 
is a mistake that my friend, the late Mr. J. Y. Gibson, too 
often made, in his othcrwise exccllent vcrsions of thc Don 
^uixotí poetry. 

The most difficult nut of all lo crack is thc opening 
addrcss by the lairy Urganda to Don Quixote, whereúi, to 
make obscurity more obscure, thc Unes have their final 
syllables cut off. In giving to ihe English reader a versión 
I of these curious verses, truncated aftcr the original (with the 
f final syllables added, for the help of the rcader}, I am sensible 
of my raehness, and take credit for nothing but a scrupulous 
fidctity to the letter of the text. Thc carly transUtotB have 
all evaded the task. Mr. Gibson, thc best of the modeni 
ones, has done it only too wcll — turning nonsense into sense, 
and making clear whai was intended to bedark. Evcn with 
his examptc before me I have felt that in honcsty I could not 
shirk thc duty which I have imposed upon mysclf of English- 
ing every word ¡n Dan ¡^¡ixoie. Whether I have succcedcd or 
not, my consolation will be that success was scarccly possiblí^ 
and is wholly ¡mmaterial. I have thought, however, that I 
was bound to atiempt in English cverythtng (hat Cervantes 
has thought worthy of doing in Spanish. There are critica 



Don Ouixote 



who have pretended to sec in these truncated verses a key 
wiih which to decipher Cervantes' mystcry. For me, I do not 
think that he had a mystery, though he iniended much mystifi- 
cation — making, in this instance, ihe verses obscure, confused, 
uid paitry, in order to carry out his purpoae of ridiculing the 
foolish practicc of his age, Pellícer affirms that Cervantes 
was ihc inventor of th¡s k¡nd of verse. Others maintain that 
ibc merit of thc discovery bclongs to F. Andrés Pérez, the 
Dominican monk, who, under the ñame of Francisco de 
Ubcda, wrote that luisavoury book. La Picara Justina. 
Lupe de Vega and Góngora adopted the practice, and 
cxamples of it may be foiind in their works. The question 
Í8 of small ¡inportance, for it is a poor invention, devoid of 
riiher gracc or wii. I cannut but agree wich Clemencín 
that the execution, in the prcscnt case, is as htcle happy as 
ibc idea. If there was any humour or point in ihe allusions, 
it has been lost. A parC of the original I (juoCe, so that 
tbc rcadcr may be able to sec how lar I have falten short 
in ihc humour of these truncated verses ;— 

Si de Ucgarte i los bue — 
Libro, fueres con ic[u — 
No te dirá e! boquírru — 
Que no pones bien los de — 
Mal si el pan no ac te cuc — - 
Por ir á manos de idio— 
Verás de manos á bo~ 
Aun no dar una cu el ck— 
Si bien se comen las ma — 



Don Ouixote 



URGANDA THE DISGÜISED » TO THE BOOK. 
OF DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA 

O Boolt tí 'twcre thy pur — pose 
To rcach ihe good and know — ing, 
To ihcc woa't 5«y ihc boo — by 
Don't put to il ihy fin — gers. 
Bui if thou art not bi — kíng 

The bread to fced thc noo — dlc», 
Thou'it see thc inonteya nib — bling, 
And sucking of ihcir fin — gers 
To ahow ihai ihcy aie know — ing. 
And wel! ihe fare do tel — iih. 

Thai he who'a sitting un — der 
A goodly ttec'í wcll sha — dcd. 
Thy lucky star in Be— j"^ 
A Royal irce » doth off— cr 
Whose fruit >s noble prin— ees, 
On whkh a Dute doth flout — ish. 
A modero Alex»n — der 
Comes lo íts &hadc j for Por — tune 
The bold doth cver fa — vour. 
Thou shaJt rccount thc ato — ry 
Of thc noble knight Manche — gan, 
Whose hcad, by idle rcad — iog, 
Was turnéd topay-tur — vy. 



■ Urgindi Ibc Diíguiírd, luuall)' Uanilated (be Unttnown, ii Ili« iaii 
Jiantrní in jímtJii tf Gaul, ■ gaod fairy ind tlic paiticuldi tñeai al 
TOnoi of thit hero, She urned ha lillc thiDugh her bculty lad hibit 
niforming hcrulf upaa ncciiilaii. Thc GLml Gandalic, onc of the %a 
piifil Gilaor (Amadií* broüíei) tbil Uipnd* w 
iK ihe otOa diíguiícd uid tmufanned beru 



t,r(ll. t 



filjfd Id DncBKKiia I 
{Amada, bk, i. ch. ii.) 

■ Tlie Duki of Béjar wii belkvcd lo be ileKBidcd from ibe Oíd Uap of 
Navanc. (Fcnun Pero de Quunia, Gatrtciciii j Scmtkmuí, qoaCEd by BovrlL} 



Don Ouixote 

Lovcs, anns, and koights and la — di» ' 
Provokcd him in such mea— sure, 
That madder tJian Orlan — do 
By forcé of arms lic'd cap — ture 
Toboso"s Dulcine— a. 
Don't stamp your hicroglyph — ics* 
So ¡dly on your scutch — con, 
For wherc are nonc but hon — ours ' 
You'll, may be, lose ibe rub — ber. 
Be humblc in thy cali — ing. 
And none will mock thee bawl — ¡ng- 
" Here's Don Alvaro de Lu— na !" * 
" Hcrc's Hannibal of Car— thage ! " 
" Here's Francis King from Par— is," ' 
" Complaining of his for — tune ! " 

Since Heaven Í9 not will — ing 



■ (Chr hil 



' Le dDiiDe. i civalier, l'anne, glí omori. 

— Opening Une of Ariuilo'i Orlando Fwííw. 
Thii, tbe obtcurac itinu íd thíi cloudy pocm, ii uid lo rcfer to ccrtiin 
■mUtioBi ind ialiintc ihíeldi oF armí affiícd by Lope il« Vcgi to lome of hb 
Isok*. One cumple ii [o be founí) in the froDtilpicce to Ll Hrrnanira di 
^Kgúita, i6d3, of which a ficiimile ía given in Salvá'i Catahgve, vol. Ü. p. loS. 
TIm jíriaJia «ppíifed with a tcBtchfon of the «uthor, in which mnetcm cutlet 
wtte ügHied ¡ tbr Ptrigrim with a pottraít of Lope and ihirt)' caitla, ía ña 
dábante cnat of aimi. 

I have mide the tal of thii olvcure alluiion, whích Clunrncin pranooncei 
llelligiUe. There ia lome reférence to a gime of latdi, motl liluly to 
igne it Ihíi time. In thii game. wbjch wi* 
ling lilee Omért or Sjuuirillt, accordíag to the Spiniíh Acailemy'i Dictioa- 
r, tam (Mit an dcalt to each plajET. The leven counti Iwenty-one poinCí 
(thr highe*!^. thí lii dghteen, the ate aiiteen, tbe drüce twdlve, aad a loml ar 
cod tati tupirá) ten. Heoce honoun are in thil gilne IcM valuabk thao plaln 
oriti^ to which la probibly the alluiion. Primire wat once vcty faihíonable in 
Shakipeite introducá Henry VIII. playing it with tbe Duke ot 
pait mw o'doík in the moming. (H™^ yill.. Art v. K. i.) 
Uvaro de Luiu, the (ekbtited favauríte of Kiog Juan 11^ after hold- 



Ú^ MS*- 









■t fóf ihirty yrari, 



Don Quixote 

Th>[ thou jhouldít coim: out Icarn- 
As John Latine * Üic ne — gro, 
Havc naughl lo do with Lai — in, 
Let not thy wit be sprout — iug. 
No philosophy be talk — ing, 
Lesc tome buffoon there twist — ing 
His mouth, Üiough neVr a Ict — icr 
He undcrsiands, be rail — ing, 
Why lo such as me thcse flow— en 

In manera hard, don't med — dlc. 
Ñor in other's loves be pry — ing, 
To pass by wiüioui siop — ping 
Whít'i not your own ís wi» — dora ; 
For he who jcsls at ran — dom 
May havc the jcst on's nod — dlc ; 
So still [hy ihoughu be giv — ing 
To learn how fame is goc — icn ; 
Fot he ivho prinis a fo! — ly 
Incurs a cess ciern — al, 

Take hced thar it is mad — nc» 



Ina 



eofgl 



nliv 



In hand to gather peb — blct 

To fling thcm at your ncigh — bour. 

The wisc man should be care — fiíl 

In books which he compos — es 

The wii should fun with lead— en 

Feet, tor if hc's wrii — Jng 

Stuff for silly maid — cns 

He writes for fools and nin — nies,' 

' Juan Latina wii i negro. Ivoughi up in thí hoiuc of Ihe DncheM oí 
Ttrranov». wídow of thc Gr«t CapuLn GoQidvD de Cordova, to *hom wu 
givcn ihiC Dime Sal hit pal leaming and etpccially fór hii koowlcdgc of Latín, 
in whkh tongne he wrotc p«mi. 

the Dukt •!< Lftma, the favourite and ill-pou^iful m¡nialrr a( the rcJgning kiflg, 
Philip IIL Thit arranl gotilp-mnager, Mnrcri, in lii> Dictioniry, pubUilied 
■orne fifty ymi after ihc dcath oí Ccivantri, wu Ibe linl to glv« {urrcscj lo 
Ihü lilly alory, «;^g thil Cervinltt hail búa ioiulUd by the DalEt tai toolc 
20 



Don Quixote 



[AMADIS OF GAUL TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA 
MANCHA! 

Thou, that my tearful IÍfe didst imítate 
WhcD I took me disdaiocd and all-forlorn 
To Peña Pobrc'í « ruggcd sides lo moum, 

pTom joy lo pcnitcncc reduced by fatc ; 

O thoa, who didst thy raging thirst abate 

Frora thine cycs' foumaiti, though to onc not born 
Saltish the drinfc ; who tin and píate didst scorn 

And on thc ground whai thc ground gavc didst eal ; 

lÁve thou secure that to etcrnrty, 

Al icast so loiig as on ihis tcrrcne sphcrc 

His steeds the ruddy god of day doth prick. 

Thy ñame for valour shal! rcnowncd be, 
Thy land thc ñnt among all lands ippcar, 
Thy learned author stand alone unique.^ 



it tbf oíoit cofiom íyM of friend» at 



n, the aephew of hii jiitron the Archlñihop of Toledo and tht fiüirt-in- 
I ud piDtecIor tbc Conde de Lemot, lomc oae o( hii jcaloui rí 



D hii hiilory (ch. li.) he w 



■ Piin, Üu 'Poor Rock" 



Rock Doloram, on whícii Aniidií did 



w br hú Dnlciaea, 



"ibe hemlirch of thii 



hicb bu bccQ i>EDilIy fulfilled 



k of hit pDpil md LI 
w lut Uoe, ipeiki wicb i nal unbeceming pride ai 



r, Don Quitóte. Cervutn, 



Don Ouixote 



DON BELIANIS OF GREECE' TO DON fíüIXO'J^ 
OF LA MANCHA 

I tore, I slash'il, I bruised,' 1 üd ind iijd 

More than ¡n all che world did ErranC Knight ; J 
Deiierous and brave and proud was I in fight, 

A thousand wrongs avengcd and myriads sped. 

My fcats by fame ctcrne are ha1!aw¿d ; 
A lover delicatc and cbe polite ¡ 
A dwarf was cvcry giant in my sight ; 

Each law orthe duello 1 obeycd. 

Dame Fortune prostratc at my fect I kcpt. 
And by ihc forclock bold Opportuníty 
I willy-niily dtagged to do my will. 

But ihough always my soaring luck o'erleípt 
The creseent moon, ihy prowessc! and thee, 
O guiíotc ! roigh[y knight, I cni7 srill. 



&ine which wia lo be h», being conicioui, u lU grtat wriltn miut be, of the 
cnduring worth of faii mailrrpircc. In thi>, oi m bit Dther innncti, Ceiviata 
fóllawt the iriJielypal Pctnrcín catutnictinn, wíth ■ prcfercnce, u uiui 
CiitilÜQ vene, tor thc fcmioíoe ending. Eicepl ¡a thii laat mpcct, I J 
ibUowed him ía form lad la Icttcr u doiety u wii ponible^ The word 
"unique" in tbe ionntt sbow, which tome critia hive ihonghl to imick of 
boutfulncii, wii doubllrsi >n allaiion to ) matta in t-apc ilc Vrga't £/ Frigrim 

' BFliíaia oí Grccce wit anc of the moit redoutable ind pcmicimu of 
Kaíghti Ertant, "more venomou» thin viptr, mote eouMgeooi Ihan l¡on," 
hü hiltor¡»n — givtn to fierie guiti of puiion, in tbat in one of ihem " 
KctDed to iiiue out of the vigor of bii hflmel"; ycl withal ■ vFry good 
Chiiitiin, fot it i) laid of him thal "Ihtn wt> not to be found tbout (Jiai 
viothet knight of cquil ginctlly, whetcin he eiccUed cven the moit reierrcd uf 
moalu" (pe. 3, ch. iiviii.), 

* Rompen corto, ¿aht, abolla, y tilla. 



tSu 






Don Ouixote 



THE LADY ORUNA» TO DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO 

O bciuleous Dulcinea, would that 1 

Could have tliy luck, and changc our towns and atorics, 

Trucking for thy Toboso Mirafiorcí,^ 
Fot greater quiec and convcnieney 1 
Thít soul and body in thy livery 

And lovcs I might adoro me, »nd the glories 

Shate of [hy famous cavalicr, who bore hia 
Pirt in the uncqual scrife so güllanlly ! 
O ihit I'd got off from Amadis 

So chute' as thou didst ftnin thy paramour, 

The gcntle, tendcr-conscicnced knight, Sir Quiíotc ! 
Thcn envied and not cnviouí, 1 wis, 

I'd be, and glad instcad of 9ad and sorc. 
As tasting of the joy ñor paying the scot. 



t pleiiare - hoiuc bclonging to Kiog Uiu 
II wu lituit 
ling naldmci 
d b]F orchudt 



' Orwu, the iniítreu of Amadií, of whom more will be heird ía the 
fn^Küt <J th» (tory. 

■ Miriflsfn w» > ciitic o 
Gnu Brltiin, wb^rc Oriina 
yagam fiota London, int) wu imill, buC the 
the mrld — in * lorat al ibc lop of a mounUii 
toR nncb ínit, ind by froia ¡o whích abounilrd pliati and Aowfh of nuny 
kia4>. Wllhin i ttuDc'i ihrow wii i nunaery, citnbliitied hy Ihc PrinctH 
Oriwa. (^«Hifíi d; G«/<i, cap. luí.) Giccawich (?). 

* The hltlory relato Üiat the loveí of Oríana and Anudíi (though he wa> 
aac «r tbe mon continent of tbe knighti and ihc the chatletl lady in ibe booki 
of diinlrío) were doi u inncHrait u tfaoK of Dulcinei ind Don QaUatr, A 
Ma *u born to OríaDi, al MlnHom. who wu poi in a che» and ñung into 
tbe Tbniíci. Minculoiuly pretcrved. he lived to be ihe cilebtated Eiplandian, 
«hoM dadt. u (CCDonCeil ¡n the Fouilh Boolc o( Afnadií, Lti Sirg/i di Eifiam- 
ÜM, «ImoM eidlkd thOM or hii (ither. 



Don Ouixote 



GANDALIN. SQÜIRE OF AMADIS OF GAUL. TO 
SANCHO PANZA, SQUIRE OF DON QUIXOTE 



s wight, al] hail ! When Fatc did pUce 
Thee Íd thy trade of squire, thou borc ihcc there 
So íweetlj' cunning and so debonair 
Thal naught thou didst thy calting to disgrace ; 
Ñor spade ñor rcapíng-hook did fly in face 
Of errant enterprise, and now thctc are 
In use thy squire-simpÜcities which bear 
The haughry down who would thc moon defuce. 
Thinc ass I envy, and no Icss thy ñame, 
Thy wallets cqually I cnvy thec, 

Thy provcndcr which provcs thy providencc. 
Once more, O Sancho, hail ! thou man of flimc ; 
Our Spanish Ovid, of hia courtcs)% 
Doth liisí thy crown lo do thcc n 



FROM DONOSO. A MIXED FAT AND LEAN POET.i 
TO SANCHO PANZA» 

The squire am 1, high Sancho Pan — za, 

Of Quiíoic, Knight Manche — gan [ 

I loot French Icave, and cut my luck — j,* 

To live in quietnesa diacrcc! — ly j 

For our taciturn Villadie— go 

mut ibt UK of thí word ii cQOíroonly confintd. 

* Thi» i« «oolhti ipccimen of the tiuntatcd vir»oi, evtn mow obtcuií ihan 
thc fint. I cumot pietcnil to givc iny teaie whne thc Spuüh critia tbcm- 
•elvrt can tind na mcaaiag. Who ii mcant by the poct Donato, ibt "giy" 
oac, it ú impOMible to [onjcduic, any mote tilia who wii Villadícga, wliow 
brecch» havc pantd into ■ poverb. 

' Fué fiit (R fthimia — litenlly, "I put fcet in thr dngty" — itandl ia 
Spuíih tling, or Cmuitia, for " I nn iway." I b(Ví rtndcrcd il by ni Englíih 



PREF. VEMES DOIl O^ÍXCtC 

All his poli tic State rea — sons 
Were summed up in seclu — sion, 
As was perceived by Celesti — na,^ 
Than which's no book divin — er 
If its nature were less nak — ed. 



TO ROZINANTE 

I am the famous Rozinan — te, 
Great grandson of great Bavie— ca ; * 
I for my sins of lean — ness 
Was given to Don Quixo^te.* 
Sluggishly I ran my match — es 
But nevcr missed my feed of bar — ley, 
For this I learnt from Lazari — lio 
When the wine he would be steal — ing 
And gave the straw to his blind mas — ter.* 

^ La Celestina^ or the tragi-comedy of Calisto and Meliboea, is a prose drama 
of tbe fifteenth century, partly wrítten by Rodrigo Cota and partly by Femando 
de Rojas, which had an enormous popularíty in tbat age. It was first printed 
at Salamanca in 1499, and passed through a great many editions, besides being 
translated into many languages. The anonymous author of the Dialogo de la 
I^engua, one of the first crítical works published in Spain {temp. Charles V.), 
speaking of the CeUttina^ says that in no book was the language more natural, 
more proper, or more elegant. It was excellently translated into English by 
James Mabbe, in 163 1. 

* Bavieca was the horse of the Cid Ruy Dies de Bivar. 

' Except here, for the sake of the metre, Don S^uixote is pronounced always 
in this translation as in English — not, as in Spanish, as a trisyllable. 

^ The allusion here is to a passage in Lazarillo de Tormesj where the young 
picaroon practtses on hit master a trick learnt from his thieving parents. 



25 



Don Ouixote 



ORLANDO FURIOSO TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA 
MANCHA 

If thou wert tiot a Peer, ihou hadst no peer' 
Who midst ten thousand Pccrí mjght well be o 
And whcre thou wast, chere Pcers could sure be nonc, 

Thoo conqucror unconquered, conqucr'd nc'cí ! 

Orlando hight ara I, in arm! thy fere, 
Quixoie ! — bv false Angélica undonc, 
The irophies of whosc mighc Oblivion, 

OfFcred at glory's «hrine, itself did apare. 

I cannot be thy peer, for pecrlcssness 
Is co thy proweas due, and lo thy fame, 

Though cqually with me thy hcad thou last : 

Yct mine thou mayst be, for in Heathenessc 
No Scythian fierce or lion thou e'et didst tamc. 
And love doth make us peer, in love boih ctosi 



THE KNIGHT OF THE SUN^ TO DON QUIXOTE 
OF LA MANCHA 

My sword wíth yours, O (¿uiiote, could not vi( 

Spanish Alfebo ! curious COUTtier ; 

Ñor arm of mine with yours, though wont lo 
Likc levin-brand where days are born and dic. 
Empires I spurn'd, and the proud monarchy 

Which thc red Orient oíTercd 1 foresware. 



* Thc idvealum aí ibe Knight oí the Sao, Alfcba, loa uf ihe gttu Emperat 
Trcbício, are eonUitird ín tht four boak» of Eif^ja de Priíaifti y Cttallnt, I 
writtoi by Diego Ortonri, lad ñnt publithcd it Zuigozi ía 156Z. 
orall thc bo«ki of chinltis.oiw of thc moot ruitutic. utrm|ut, and tcdtoni, 



iF. VÉMEs Don Ouixote 

The sovran face of Claridiana ' lair— 
The bright Aurora of taj hearC — to see. 
1 loved her through a portcnC strangc and rare. 
And abscnt in her mishap, tíie vcry HcU 
Quaked ai my irm chat did its Tury unic. 
Buc you, Illusirious Goth ! (hy ñame afar 
Your Dulcinea through the worid doih lell. 

As shc by you hach won wii, honesty, and fame. 

DON SOLISDAN^ TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA 
MANCHA 

What though you havc by fools bcfooled been. 
And nonscnsc wiih your pate haj havoc played, 
Yct none shall c'cr, Sif Quijote, daré upbraid 

You for a man of dccds or foul or mean : 

Your Works shall be your witncsscs, I wecn, 
For setting right the wrongéd was your tradc, 
Wherein a ihousand times wcll cuttgellcd 

Ye werc, by caitiffs vite and rogueí obscene ; 

And if your misircss, beauccous Dulcinea, 

Of promised love did your fond hopc dcfraud 
Ñor kindly lo your wocful suit díd prove her ; 

Let thii your comfort be, your gricf lo checr, 
That Sancho Panza was a sorry bawd ; 
He foolish, cruel she, and you no lovcr. 

DIALOGUE BETWEEN BAVIECA AND ROZINANTE 

B. What aila thcc, Rozinantc, ar[ so lean ? — 

R. Bccausc I travcl ayc, and ncver eat, 

B. ti thcrc for fhcc no straw or barley ihcn ? — 

* CUridiíaa wu ihc daughtei oF tlie Emperor of Tripíian-li (TrchUond) 
iOd aláK QiKtn ofitic Atn»ai». 

* Na tiKh lumc «cun in inf of Ihe loolu, ind it it tuppaKd to be lo 
iBKMloa ef Cttvuta. Thii loruwt in Ihc original ii (tuffcd witb iQlit)ue 



Don Ouixote 



R. Ne'et a bit of either from my lord I get. 
B, Aroim thee, with thy as»'* tongue obtcene, 

That doth thy mister kind vitupérate ! — 
R. 'Tis he, from eradle to his winding-sheet 

Wat ass, I trow, as in his love was seen. 
B. I» love a folly f — R. Sute, 'tis no wit. 
B. Thou art a cynic. — R. 'Tis becaaie l'm hungry. 
B. Complain'st of squire í — R. Paíth, that complaint's too 

Por why the author of my pains acquit í — 

Both squire and lord in this your Erran t-moagery 

Are hacka aa ture os e'er vns Rozinante. 




INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN 

Don Ouixote of La Mancha 



I 



CHAPTER I 

ífltith trtals «f ihr {smÜtian and vnay of l'ifi ef the fat 
gentkman^ Don ^ixate of La Mancha 

iKzcertain village of La Mancha, whose ñame I will not 
reca)!,* thcre lívctl not long ago* a gentleman, — one of 
tbosc who keep a lance ín the racfc, an ancíent target, a lean 
hackncv, and a greyhound for coursing,* A mess of sotne- 

' TLü ixticfnce ía rcipcct la Don QiitXDte*t vtllagc hat been variomly jnlcr- 
pfMed. ind hu givcn [lie lo endleu lonjciiutM more or Im unraropIimenUry, 

fine* ■ iimple «nd nstunl rcíKín for the myiterji, íf he ever inlendeii one, ín the 
<aMlading Kntencu of ihe lau cJuptti o( the Sccood Pact of Dv< Sluinu. 

* Al CtTiiatti wat wiitiag tawardi tlic cloK of the lumnlh ccntory, the 
■elkm cif tbc itorf muil be lilun >■ piuíng in the L»t }>«ii af the n'iga oí 
Pliiliplt., whodied ín t^^i. 

* Ltiaa r» aiiilUri^ Antonia de Guevín, chtonícler and chapliin la Charlo 
V^lnhiiAUnifriíisJeU Cv/r, "Contemptof the Cauri." dcKribing the faniiltire 
ai* Tilhige ErnlJfnun {iiAilp) of Ú¡c pcríoil. menliai)! "i lana outaíde the door, 
1 h*ckney in ibe itable, jnd i Utjet in the chimber." Thí tilUlera, 01 Iince- 
nck, Í> •lili lo be fcen in ald houiH ía tbe tniriior af Cdtíle and Li Mancha, 

taOrii coun or ftah. Tbc tJ4r[ii wu the ald knightir triangular ihicid, made 
of iathtt, ttrrlched oo a frimc of irán, lomeliniei of wood. The rw/n 
[haelcaer) vu ■ baiw-ar-ill-work. Ai hareí are plentiful ia L> Minchi the 
£«{[» «■ñwk' Of (Kjhoubd vrai ■□ indiipenuble membn of ifae houiebatd. 
29 



Don Ouixote 



what more beef than muiton,i a salad on most nighis, a 
hotch-potch on Saturdays, lenlils on Fridays, with the 
addition of a pigcon on Sundays, consumed three parís oí his 
substance,* The rest of it was spent on a doubíet of fine 
broad-cloth, a pair of velvct breeches for holidays, with 
siippers of ihe same, and his home-spun of the finnt, 
with which he decked himself on weclt-days.* He 
Itept at home a housekecper, who was past forty, and a 
níece who had not reached twenty, besídes a lad for the 
ficld and markct, who saddled the na^_and handled the 
pruning-hook. 



> Mutton WJii Ihca iam Üun bat 
wmI, ihe oicn lun üom hitd work. 

< l'he diel o( Don Quitóte mij be ukcn u tiut of ■ <[ 
gCDllcmao of the pcríod. The ilít wai, and ii, the itinding dlih, 
avoiiry lecording lo iti conlcnlt. The nlad {aíficw) wii ene of r 
•mili piren lod dtcued with vlnegir, ail, md prpper. The < 



the iheep betng reieived for 

coontry 









ihardbi 



'* halch-polch/' hu bees a fcrtiEe aubjeet for the 
for the tnntliton ta píck. Dmía j qutirinnct, Pellícet bu Etpliíneil, trou OBt 
af the cualom in the pMlonl diaCricli oí Spain foi ibc ihepherdt lo bñng hamc 
lo Iheir míttrri, ii the tnd of (he week, the remaini or ptime piooH Of llu 
animalt which hid come lo a violent eod, citiiet from «rolw» or accidenta io ibe 
field. Out of theie w» made the •líiJi called ibniai j jath-mni — Utenllj, 
" gríefg aad breakíngí " — the lirtl word eipreHJve of the lentimeM of the nuHet 
al hii lo», ihe inrond denoting Ihe conilitian of the ininiil. Thit diih, u behig 
meigre snd litlle sppeiii'mg, good SpcnUrdi, by i tpeciaj rljtpentitiao. wett 
permitted to eit on Saturdayi. On tbit day »bttincnce from meat uird lo be 
•liictly obtened thtoughout Spain, In eoma 
viclDiy of Lai Na^ai A Telcu. giined in 
liited till the middle of the eighieenlh cen 
of Pope Benedict XIV. The n»; 
appean to be novr oUotele in Spaín,- 

«ííTeii C(Mra/.*furiía(i877). pp. igj and joo. 

* The minute account of Don Üoiiolf'a appatrl tniblea lu lo tnUu ibt 
coilume and appeBiance of a counlry genttcmao ia Spain it ihi cIoM of Ib 
aiilnnch century. The donbtet wii Hom clow (o the imáy. The hticAn 
WER of a piece wilh ihe tlockingí, in ahipe lioiílat to whal are Called ■ 



11 Df the great and crownlag 
i in iiti over the Mooia. Tbe caitom 
] cenlury, when il waa iboliihcd bgr > Salí 
', (/¡nial j jK^atiei, u mil it ihe dlab, 
)t lean, 1 never could faesr of Íl¡ bot it 
s of America. See Badduii-WhRh«tB>l 



by Ni|[hlan 



The tllppen. fam.JIai, warn pceauínably in 



Ihe h 



affccled chjcfly, tetBtáag to Conimbiat, by oíd and pait falle 



Don Ouixote 






The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years. He 

8 of a vigorous constitution, spare of flesh, dry of visage, 

a great early riser, and a lover of the chase. They affirm 

' lat his surname was Quejada or Quesada (and in this there 

some variance among the authors who treat of the matter), 

[though by very probable conjectures we are led lo conclude 

that he was called Quijana.^ But this is of small ¡mport to 

our story -, enough that in the telling of it we swerve not a 

jot from the truth. ^\¿.^i -U-<r«^ - ' ^^^-^ -j rt.-»» 

Be it known tben that this gentleman above mentioned, 

during the ¡nterval that he was idle, which was the greaier 

pBTt of the year, gave himself up to the reading of books 

chivalries, wich so much fervour and relish that he almost 

itirely neglected the exercise of ihe chase and even the 

lanagement of his estáte. And to such a pitch did his 

'curiosity and intatuaiion reach that he sold many acres of 

vable land in order to buy romances of chivalry to read ; and 

íO he brought home as many of tbem as he could procure. 

And of all none seemcd to him so good as those composed 

by the fttmous Fehciano de Silva,^ for their briUiancy of 

t Tht Culi nimc, a> givea in the S«oad Piit, x> Alontu Quijiao. An endIeM 
e coajeclurt tui b«n indalgcd xa by Spiniíh ctíUci ■> to wha w» 
E h)' diit Dimc i whil gcnlluain ciLted Quijuo or Quetadi wat to be 
■erioi) in L> Muncba ; wbat wai Cürvinla' motive ia chooilng 
ifhiihcroj «nd DthcT *|UGitiaD> efually pírciacnC «nd intcrrttmg. Buth 
■ ind QiKsdi wat wcII-knoi,ra ñama io Spiin at the time, ihe fim 
f fana borac by the faiDD^u Luía Quijada, majot-doma to Cbarlcí V. ind 
lo hii Km Don Juan, i dúlinguiahed geneial, wbo conducled elle 
t lEtiitiI lile iniuTgcnt Maiíicoei in (he Alpujarraa, and díed of i 
Bdlcilin ÍMtilc in I57<>. The munc urQuijida waa that oía Umúf ia 
rt of Et^uivia), ilie luwn fiom which Cetvmtia mirrled hit wiff. One 
I, btc (ovctaor af tbe Ootcta, vtag a fcllaw-pHKnger with Cervintea in 
1 Bi S4I, whrn ihe »-ii captured by the Algerina, ^yaJa oiMD) 
Sayn Cokriil^, " even in Üiia ai6c Cervantes ihow! ;in eujuíaile 
•t OnM biilaaatlnE tbc aHociilioa nf ¡antera-jawi ¡ato the reidef'i 



* Pclkkao 4t Silva, the tutlior of Dm Flar'mt Ji Ntjiai, wat he wha ia ihne 
» orrícd rodomMiude ta the higbnt ptch. Hia ttyle bad aJteadj 



Don Ouixote 



stylc, and those entaiiglcd scntences seemcd to him to be 
very pt-arls ; and csptcially when he carne to rcad of thc 
passages of lovc and oincls of defiancc, wlierein he often 
found written things Hice ihcsc : — "77íí reaion »f the 
urirtason wkich ii done la my reason In such wiie my rtason 
debUitateSy that vjilh rrasan ¡ eampla'm of your htauUsusness." 
And also whcn he read : — " The hfty htavcm which ef yiiur 
divinlty ds d'ivintly fortify you tuilh the conste/Zalims, and 
make yeu dnerver of the deserU vjhich yeur mightinrtí 
deservei." ' 

Over ihesc reasons our poor gcncieman lost hís scnaes, 
and he used to kcep awaice at night in trying to comprehcnd 
ihem and in plucking out theír meaning, which not 
Aristotle himself could extract or understand, wcre he lo 
come to life fbr that special purpose. He did not much 
fáncy the wounds which Don Belianis gave and receivcd ; 
for he thoiight that, however poieni wcrc ihe mastcrs* who 
had hcalcd him, the Knight could not but havc his &ce and 
all his body fiíU of scars and marlcs,' Ncverthcicss, he 

hnwght down apon him the iLiiicnle tai centure of wrítcn of judgmait, eym 
befan Dm S^irui gaic him immgitilily. Don Diego Hurtsdo de Meoiiou, 
■he celebnterf atithor oF the Gutrr» Jt Gramult, had qaoted in hii Ltttft s/li» 
Badilir sf Ariíála (tben «id t bellevc utill in minnicripl) the nry V"^V 
which Cervontei hai Ktccied fn ■ umple of Felícbno <le SUvi') tttnngmcc^ 

' Clanencin ijuoleí Trom other lUthnn of thal ige ¡tiiiagei quile » ibtBrd n 
thue. ptoving bow much the popular Uite hid beca debioched by the wrllen of 
ihe bool» of chivalfiei. 

«hinlríei lad iii ihe oM chroniciM. Al ihc Pía Umsit, ■ (imont kniEhlly 
(nnction betd it Orbigo, nar Lioo. in ihe yar 14.14, which wii sltouM hf 
many Kni¡bt> Emnl from nriout countiiet, tcvetul eminml mitleri of inrgery 
mere preteni ; nor had ihey * tíoecun, for rt ii tald thil. im the bu itf 
tourney, uf the liily-eighl adveatnren whn cimleiided, oflly me ni 
líale ñl tu beat *imi. See Appeadií D, vot. 1. 

* BeliiDii. who wai nat eocliinted not in nilHerible In anjr 
wu diitbigaiihcd by ihc number of WDtuii)i he receivcd duiing hit 
Ule IWD finí boolu oF bi* hiilory iloiie ire nclusned a hsniliTd inl 
bvrtí, beiiiíei miRy olhen in ihe otlier Iwa boolu. 

3» 



Don Ouixote 



praiscd in the author thc eading of his book with the 
promise of Uiat interminable adventure,* and ort-times he was 
seized with a desire to take up the pen, and put a finish to 
¡t in good earnest, as ís therc proposed. And doubtless he 
wotiid h»vt done so ¡ ayc, and gone through with it, had not 
othcr greacer and more lasting thoughts diverted hís mind. 

Many limes he held dispute with the Priest * of his 
village (who was a learncd man, a gradúate of Siguenza*) as 
Eo who should havc bccn (he better knight, Palmerin of 
England* or Amadis of Gau! ; though Master Nícholas, 
the Barber of the same village, was used to say that none 
carne up to the Knight of the Sun, and that if any one 
couid compare with him it was Don Galaor,^ brothcr of 
Amadis of Gaiil, for he had a very accommodating temper 
fbr everything ; he was no prudish cavalier, ñor such a 
snivellcr* as hís brothcr, ñor in the article of valour any 
bchind him. 

' Geiünimo Fnnaiidu. (he lalhor of Btlumii ofGrttct, tiyi it ihc coDcluiÍDa 
Vllii biitarjr tlut be had wíihed to mcntion otbcr pitticolin, but tbr eachintn 
him Üut he hid loit thc copy. ia pauing (rom Greece inio 



I " ihc cante " by dII tbr otd tnailalori ) but ¡tira \t nol 
«^uvilml ta onr Englíth cunlc. He \% cbe Frencb arí, thc EoeUih " rtctor," 
tlw prfot of tbc pirUi. In thii rtory he pliyi i Icaiiiag pirt, icd » t gentlemu) 
«f good HiiH, wit, ind judgment, U id ciceUcnl Inl boih la thi cniy knight 
HUl to ihc vulpr bÉtbrt. 

' Aecndini ro Pin I. ch. v^ the pricit wu not > gndmie, but only ■ 
UbcbHMe. la thc time of Philip II. the Üvíne wu warlb ]oo duan (¿]() i 
Jttt. Al Sjguom, on ihe HcDim, vrii i tmall UDiTrnilf. 

• Pilmeria of Eogluid, oí wham moic wilL be heifd hdoh, vrgí ibe gmt rival 

• G>li«. KD of PerioD King of Giul, uid owd brather to Amadií, wm ■ 
la tlut beni in tempeí md La munli, being > generil lovcr. lod of ■ 

I * Th( bsid Amidit. it it iru, «ru mocb glven to tun. Me wh¡» profiiicly 
9 *tn\f tvrry inttrvitw witb hb «idmi, The cantmt tvlwcea (bii 
init thc p]r. MsTculia-like Oilior, i) nry vrell Iccpt sp 

33 3 



Don Ouixote 



In ñne, our gentlcman was so absorbed in thesc studies 
ihac he passed his nights reading from eve to dawn and his 
days from darle to dusk ; and so whh little slexp and much 
studr his braiti dricd up, lo ihc end that he lost his wits. 
He fillcd himself with the imagination of all that he read 
in the boaks ; with enchaniments, with quarreb, baldes, 
chaUenges, wounds, amorous plaints, loves, lormcnts, and 
fbllies impossiblc. And so assured was he of the iruih of all 
that mass of ¿ntastic invcntions of which he rcad thal fbr 
him there was no other history in the worid so cerlain. He 
would say thal the Cid Ruy Diez must havc been a good , 
Knight, but not to be named with the Knight of the 
Flaming Sword,' who only with one back-strolce had severed 
two fierce and monstrous gianis through the míddle. He 
bctter liked Bernardo del Carpió,' because at Roncesvalles 
he had slain Orlando the Enchanted,* availing himself of 
Hercules' trick when he throttlcd Anteus,* son of Terra, in 
his arms. He spoke very well of the gianí Morgante,' for, 
though of that gigantesquc brood who are all arrogant and 
uncivil, this alone was affable and well-mannered. But, 
aboveall, he esteemed Rinaldo of Montalvan,* cspedaUy 

■ Thú wii Amgdu of Gicece, (hcgnodaon or giut-gnndian of hiin of G<iil, 
olkd "of ibc FLuniBg Sworii," beoute he wii markíd on llic htnit witb Üut 
cmbltm. ilwayí red-hot, ftoiB which iwkwird diitinction he w» Klítveí) bf lli* 
Mgc Alquife. 

' A fimout bllid-heio. invented by tht Spmüidi to nutch OrUndo. 

' OtJindo wai ahoo» iavatncnble, likc AchiUea, and conld onljr be «ronodcd 
ia ibc lolc o( hii lef I foM. 

* jicMm in the ten. Pcobahly a prínter'i blicdet. 

> OnE of (he few of l«gf italure who had an; civilltj. He ou CMiqíKrtd 
■nd thoi eoDvtrteil to tbe tnie fiith (whUever Üul waa) bjr OtUndo, taé ii tbe 
bero of Poki't poem, 1/ Marganii Magiim. 

■ Rinaldo wti one of the Tweive Peen of Fnnce, a Indine duntUt in tha 
Orlmiii Ftraa, and oae of tht ido» iinporUnl of ihc heron of ihc CaitDvin|ian 
minantei. There wai alwayí bid blood belwecn him auri Orluido, Thtn wu 
1 prevailhig natioa id tbil age Ihat the Mihomedaní weie ídoUten, lile ihraa 
tbief of wboie goda were Mahonad. Apollo, and TetnugaanL In Ihe Chraakle 
of Tun>Í>>i the Srtt of all Catlonngian nnuncea, Ihe Idol of MahoMcd, ot 

34 



Don Quixote 



whcn he saw him sally from hís castle and rob all he met, 
and when in Htathcnric he stole that idol of Mahound whicb 
was all of gold, as his hístory tells. As for thc traitor 
Galalon,' for a volley of kicks at him he would have given 
hí» housekceper, — aye, and his iiiece to boot. In short, his 
wits utterly wrecked, he fell into the strangest delusion cver 
madman conceived in thc worid and this was, that it was 



iitti 



;ing 



and 



nccessary 



for him 



r chought, both for the 




augmcnring of his honoiir and thc service of the state, to 
nulcc himself a Knight Errant, and Iravel through the 
worid with his aj-mour and h¡s horse seeking for adventurcs, 
and to cxercise hinisclf in all that he had read that the Knight 
Srnint practised, redressing all kinds of wrong, and placing 
ninself in periis and passcs by the surmounting of which he 
night achicve an cverlasting ñame and fame, Already tlie 

I, li detcribeil u "in íaiagc of (Ke ñnett gold, can in thc ghipc of a 
•uoiíing oa ili feet on a lofty ttone pedeital " (tbe Kiibj ?). (Turp^ 
liTiii.) Sce lito Hulei, Murgmuc Maggkrt, ih. iri, it. 61. 
' CililoB. Ganilon, Gjno, Gan, ii ihe «rchciípe of the trsitor in mcdÚBVil 
c, thc ladiDg vUUin in [he myth oí Roland. He wai one of the Twúvt 
Ittt, wbo Durrítd The widowed Berlha, the daughicr (lamc uy lítter] of 
II [he ttep-fathet of Rotind. He ñgucci in Oante'i 
¡M Kolud do» in ihe ParaJiu. Suboraed by heithen gold, he ít wat 
«ha W ClurlíEoigne'» army lo dtitrartion in ihe "Joloroui rout" of 
RoacciKiUa. He wai Invc. noble, and oT handtonit figure. One of (he taett 
ftmmqiK acoiM in ihe Cianun Jt Relaad b the iccuution, tríal, and defence of 
■ Initat bcfoR ihe ancmUed baroni. ConfcHing hii guilt, be pladed ibat il 
»ínK(«ncí, not mnon—yKiga m'a Jv¡ maii i'i ad iraam (tt.174, in erfítíon 
.. P. de Jnllenlle, 117!). Roluid, hi> enemy, had leat him on a tnacherou. 
ptaMjr 10 Úie King MantUan for hii dettruction, and it wat Roland, not the 
ror, wham ht detígiied to puniab. Thc aiiembled baroni, ¡t ii csriaua to 
, admitud iht ptei, lo Charlcmagnc'i grat wralh— declaring that, now 
i wai dead and oonU not come barlt for ony money, Ganalon might be 
Ued to live nr maU tv ¡aiilt lum. After the defeat of h» champion 
íl by Thietry. Gioalm wai condemned (o be lom to píceo bjr wild honM. 
'1^ Mcyn [Aniiw Cr'aifut, Februaiy it, 1^71) ingeDÍoualy auggeita an 
ieil *ña in the fabli. Canalón comea, he aa^, from ihe Ftankiah gamab. 
h ia thc Nonk ¡mmal [<i\i\. Bul the wolf it olled the"ol'lone" Ío the 
¿1^1, ihe Dake of Giicony, who bctrayed 

3S 



Don Quixote 



poor nun imagiiied himscir, by che valour of his arm, 
crowned with, at the least, the Empire of Trebizond,' And 
so, with these ¡maginaiions so deljghtful, rapt ín the strangc 
zest with which tJiey inspircd him, he madc haste to give 
efFect to what he desired. The lirst thing he did was to 
furbish up some armour which had belongcd to his great- 
grandfothers, which, caten wíth rust and covered with mould, 
had lain for ages where it had beeii put away and forgotten, 
in a comer. He scoured and dressed il as well as he was 
able, but he saw that it had one great defect, which was that 
there was no covered helmet,* hut only a simple marión or 
hcad-piecc. This his ingenuily supphed, for, with pteces of 
pasteboard, he fáshíoned a son of half-beaver, which, fitted 
to the morion, gavc it the appearance of a complete hclmet. 
The fect is that, to prove it to be strong and able to stand 
the chance of a sword-cut, he drew his sword and gavc it 
a couple of strokes, demolishing with the vcry first, in a 
momcnt, what had cost him a week to makc. The case 
with which he had knocked it to pieces not seeming to him 
good, in order to secute himseif against this danger he sct 
to making it anew, fitting sotnc bars of iron within in such 
a manner as to leave him satisfied with his defencc ; and 
withoui caring to make a fresh trial of it he coiistitutcd and 
accepted ít for a very perfcct good heimet. He went then 
to inspeqi his nag, a beast which, ihough it had more 
quarters than there are in a rtal^ and more blemishcs than 

> A cily (caiDmlljr msiiioneil tn ibt ramincn, ll vi» llic uat ot ■ briacli 
of the GftiJí Empirt tilt ii wit j'ieiAti lo Mahomn II. in 1461, It proUWj' 

wbicb ihc Spuiíh cnituuy to Timut (TtmerUot) diumbulicil In 140). icCdcA- 
ing In Cljvijo'i Hitrarj. 

* Cílain dt moji. Tht complete heimet of lile linrcnlh ccnlut^ — «Mi 
fcrpffioM — wji tompoied of the htíd-píec*. or mofioa, iviih a viíOr W ddcnd 
tbi (ice, iQd ■ beiver IJtvoit) which lifled np lo {¡crmít tlii wtmor ts cal tai 
drínk. 

* Mm¡ narua ju mi raí; ■ play upon the Word maro, which k» a riouble 
monint — finti the ^lUtter of i plece of mmcy (ría/) j «cond, t i1Ík*k to vrhtcb 



Don Quixote 



the horse of Gonelii,' which tantum pell'n et ona fult^ 
appeared to him to surpass Alexandcr's Bucephaius and the 
Cid's Bavieca.* Four days were spent by our gentleman in 
mcditaríng on whai name to give him ; for, as he said to 
himseír, ii was not ríght that ihe steed of ICnight so támous, 
and in himself so good, should be wíthoui a recognised 
appelIatioD} and iherefore he endeavoured to ñt hím with 
one which should signify what he had been prior to his 
bclonging to a ICníght Errant, and what he was then ; since 
(hought il but ríghl that, the master bavtng dianged his 
iditíon, the hofíc should also change his ñame, and get 
sublime and high-soiindÍng, as betiitcd the new 
order and the new nlHce which he professed. And so, after 
many ñames which he dcvised, efiaced, and rejected, amended, 
rcmade, and unmade ín his mínd and fancy, íinally he decided 
to cail him Rozinante— a ñame, in his opinión, lofty, 
Mnorous, and signihcative of what his animal had been 
when he was a common haclcney, prevíouB to his becoming 
what he now was, — bcfore, and in front of, all the hackneys 
■n the world.* 

'cn lo his horse a ñame so much i 



Having 



Iking, 




Don Quixote 



he then desircd lo give one lo hinisdf, and the thinlcing of 
this cost him eight other days. At bst he decíded to ca!l 
himself Don Quixote ; ' whcreupon the auihors of thU 
truthful history, as has becn said, have found occasion to 
alErm that his ñame was Quijada, and not Qucsada, as otheni 
would have it. Then recollccting that the valorous Amadis 
was not cuntented wíth calling himself símply Amadla, but 
addcd ihe ñame of his kingdom and native country, to make 
it ^mous, taking the ñame of Amadis of Gaul,' so he 
desircd, lilce a good FCníght, to add to his own the ñame of 
his native land, and cali himself Don Quixote OF La 
Mancha,* whcreby, to his seemíng, he made lively pro- 
clamation of his iineage and his country, and honoured ít by 
taking his súmame therefrom. 

His armour then being cleaned, his moríon manu&ctured 
into a helmet, a ñame given to his horsc, and hiinself con- 
firmed with a new one,' it struck him that he lacked nothing 
else than to look for a lady of whom to be enamoured ; fbr 
the Knight Errant without amours was a tree withoutleives 
and without fruit, and a body without souL* He would say 

■ ^umii, Fi. !ui¡H. Eng. (uúJ, i« the pit of (rmanr whícíi covcti tht Üilgh. 
In tbc origioil, it ii nadleu, perhapg, lo H]r, it ú m tii-iylliblc, with the iccent 
OQ the pcaaltiinitr. The final Me, ia Spaniíh, Ii ■ rídiculou and Jcprccúuorji 
■ogmaiutive. The oirat, which hai dow paued into evtrj Eaiopna hnguagc 
u a ifnoaym Tur lil that Íl eiprcno, wu found macb fsall with by mne at 
Cervutu' coniemporario, ind with the Den before it wa< riiliculej a> ftr-ftlclieil 

' Gaal wai not France, a( commonly lUppoKJ, bul Walca— Cm//Í4. 

' ThcR bive bern many conjecluiei » ta the icaaosi wtiy Ctrmta chow 
La Mancha a> the (uüve country of hii hcra. No one wUl doubt the happlaeu 
of Ihal choice who hai ever viúteil thit ■irovince. The tnditloa ii that Cervnnle* 
had been iU-iued by ihe MaDchegini, onJ look thii mnhod of rcvenging hlinKlf. 
No living Manchegan, howevcr, looki upon Don Qoiiote ín anf other Ught 
than aa an honouT to Li Minchn. 

* Al Ihc ucnment of cnnñmisüon it wat «unctiiiKi the cuilom for Üw 
cnafirmed ta take i 



* Peich'ogni cavaüet. ch'é Man imore, 
Se'n viita i vivo, é vivo aenn «m, 

— BDiatda, Oríénát boMncrtf. 




iself — Were Ij for my sins, or ihrough goc 
encountcr hereabouts somc giant, as usually happens to 
Knights Errant, and to overthrow him at the onsct, or 
cleave him throitgh the middle of his body, or, in fine, 
vanquish him and makc hím surrender, would it not be wdl 
to have some onc to whom lo send him as a present, that he 
might cnter and bend the knce before my sweet misiress, 
and say with humble and subdued voice : — I, lady, am the 
giant Caracú liambro, lord of the island of Malíndramia,* 
whom the never-to-be-prai sed-as- he-deserves Knighi Don 
Quixotc of La Mancha vanquished in single combat, 
— he who hath commanded me to present myself before 
jrour grace that your highness may dispose of me at your 
plcasure. 

Oh, how our good Knight was pleased with himself 
*when he had deüvered this speech ! — And the more when he 
fbund onc to whom to give the ñame of his lady. It 
happcned, as the bclief is, that in a villagc ncar his own ■ 
there was a well-looting peasant girl, wilh whom he once 
had fallen in lovc, though it is undcrstood that she ncver 
Icncw it or had proof thcrcof. Her namc was Aidonza 
Lorenzo,* and upon her he judged it fit to bestow the title 
of mistress of his fancy ; and, seelcíng for her a namc which 
should not much belic her own, and yet incline and approach 
10 that of a princess or great lady, he decided to cali her 
Dtn,ciNEA DEL Toboso, for she was a native of £1 
Toboso — a namc, in his opinión, musical, romantic, and 



' The« 


lama ire cuined with Cervinw 


'" "'"»' f'^Ü'-ty. '"'I 


nlvUeil n 


OR Ihin oD<! pluiant jcil •( üi 


fipeniF a( iht giin 


then. 







Don Ouixote 



signilicant, u wcre aJl wfaich he had given to hinisclf and his 
belongings.^ 

1 Dnlcincí, which in ill toa^oa hu bccome tiit 1^310117111 of nveethart, íi 1 
niinc which hu |ratlr cierdtcd ume of thotc who wmld ga a imiar fia» it 
irMUríp — to look for benei bnut thin h mide of wlicit — who, luX cootent wttli 
Cemntei' pLiín dtcUntioo or tbc portaxe of bu rouuDce, pretcod to find ú it 
* dcep ctoteríc maiiiiif. A nctat crític, ScSor Benjnmei, holdt thit Dulcinea, 
which he finili to be tbc uugnm of ^l* (divina) ¡na, ii the " objectÍTc Km] " 
of Don QniíMe, U £pt Omh Lmx it OamalB, ¡a Da»* Filmfia i D/mU, U 
Aq/£t* it Bvftrity Aritat, etc. Hirdlj more ibiiiid ii Luulor'i coojectBK 
thit in Dnkinea Cemnte* intended Témete])! to rídicnle tbe Inuaunlitc Vitgia 
Muy. (Works »1- '- ^ S34-) 



CHAPTER II 

hich trtats aftht Firtt SaUywhich ihc Ingcnious Don ^¡xoíe 
made/rom his vÜlage 

f These preparations having been made, our gentleman 
dctcrmined to wait no longer to put his scheme inio cxecu- 
tion, being spurred thereto by the thought that his tardiness 
was causing a loss to the worid, sceing the grievances there 
wcrc to ícdrcss, the wrongs to right, the errors lo amcnd, 
the abuses to corrcct, and the dcbts to pay oíF. Therefore, 
without tmparting hís design to any person, and without 
being seen by anybody, one morníng before dawn (¡t was 
one of the ho. days in the month of July i) he armed himself 
tn all his armour, mounted upon Rozinante, donne<i his ill- 
mcd hcad-gear, braccd on his shicid,' seízed his lance, and 
' the back gate of the yard* sallied oul imo the pbin, 
ivcrjoyed lo pcrceive with how much ease he had made a 
leginning of his faír desígn. But scarce díd he find himself 

Bolttgy of 0«. SÍHÍx«t—hiY 
■Uf by the infonniiioM givcn i] 
« nt VÜ4 ihil the tUy w» i Fridiy, when the n 
■( ihac hinl) anit of the cilcndit, ~~ 
■r Dna Qbíiom'i finí uUy u the iSth of Jnly 1589. 
* Th( thieH «hcn «ora by knighti on honetack lad oot n>|' 
V tmiti by the iquice, wia tlusg by 1 bnckte mi thong n 



th»e b>< 1 


bemn 


luth 


«finen OB the 


!t< lo lU th. 


:cu(l 


dale 


pf the KnÍEht't 


une of Ihe 


itory. 


A 1 


inte fnrihef ™ 


len the mw 




3lt!l< 


■fulL Byhelp 


ibuich hti been enabted 


to fií the díte 



* The anal, ot ouier yird, thtn a nrceoary tffuafji al 

Id be tnhibltcd by ■ |eRtlcii»D of Don Quíiote'i condií 



reryh 



Don Quijote 



in the open pUin when a terrible thought assailcd him, and 
luch as well-nigh made him gíve up thc enlerprisc as soon as 
it was begun ; and it was the rccollcction thai he vas not a 
dubbed Knight, and thiis, in conformity with the bws of 
chivatry, he neither could ñor i^hould tuke arms against any 
Knight ; and even if he had been one, he was tiound as a 
novice to wear plain armour,' without devicc on the shield 
until he had gained one by his prowess. These rcflcctions 
made him tálter in his purpose, but, his frenzy prevailing ovcr 
cvery othcr argument, he proposed to havc himsclf dubbed 
Knight by the tirst man he mcl, in imitation of many wbo 
had done the IÍke as he had read ¡n the books by which he 
was so much influenced.- As touching the pkin armour, 
he purposed, when he had leisure, to scour his so thai. it 
should be whiter than ermine.* And with this he quieted 
himself and pursued his way, laking no other road than such 
as his horse pleascd,* in the belief thai thereín consistcd the 
forec of advcniures. 

Journeying along, our brand-new' advcnturer taiked to 
himseif as he wcnt, saying : — Who doubts bul that, ín thc 
ages to come, when the truc history of my ftimoiis féatí 
shall issue to ihe light, the sage who writes of thcm^ will. 



ic fcal of >i 



Thc inno 






aUowed, but onlj a bncc. 

* A) Dm Gilai» had •Soat, who, mntlng hli tnolhct Amidit (uvally. mtt 
by him nccived into knighthooJ. DciCfari knowing the other. [AimJit, ch. xL) 
A knight only could nukc a koighC, accotdiog In the DmttmalJi CaUlUrtá, 
campited \rf thc BiihQp of Burpn in the fifteoiih tCQlnry. The eieeptim wn 
in ihc cafe of ■ king, «ho conld make * knight wilhoul beíng one. 

* Ccrvantca plays wiih [he double maniagDÍ iimicaí — " «hite" and"pUin" 
(btank). «. wilhoiit cclour. 

* 5d Amailú díd, uid mony Clhen. at the outMt of their Brrantria. 

' FUmaiai — ibaurdly (rzntUled by 'Shelcon "bumiabt." uní bf Ji 






Í2 




Don Ouixote 



whcn he comes to recount this my first sally, so early in 
thc morning, put ¡t in this manner : — Scarce ' had the 
rubicund Apollo shed over the Tace of the broad and spacious 
carth thc golden threads of his beauteous locks, and scarce 
bad the tiny, painted birdlings, with their forked tongucs, 
saiuted with swect and honeyed melody the coming of the 
-Sígate Aurora, who, desertíng the smooth couch of hcr 
Ijealoue hu&band, displayed hcrself to mortals throiigh ihc 
portáis aiid balconies of thc Manchegan horizon, when thc 
l^mous Knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, quilting thc 
slothíui dowa, mounicd his fámous steed Rozinanie and 
commenccd to journey by the ancicnt and renowned Plaín 
of MontieP^ — (and true it was that by that way he was 
travelling). And he continued, saying : — Happy thc age, 
and happy the time in which shall be made publíc thesc 
iamous feats of mine, worchy of bcing cngraven ín brass, 
sculptured in marbte, and painted in picturra for a memorial 
in future. O thou, sage enchanter, whoever thou mayst be, 
who ait dcsiined to be the chronicler of this unparalleled 
history, I beseech thee forgct not my good Rozinantc, for 
ever companion of mine in all my journeys a 

rtii af iDthor ii 



:t jlmaSi ifGra 



' Caprnuif, in h 



imaocti a( ehivalrjr. So Alquífe t 
..i,./Cr,™. 

Tum át ¡a Ehcaana Eifn/Ma, ijuotci thii puiip ii a 

while Pelliter nyi of ít tiut Cerwnleí' purpoie «nt to 

lie the pemp *a<l ■fftcuiinn w fra]Ucnl m thc romincei of chinlcy. 

■K anmberlng peiltDtÍc,utt)vag>nt, lod vcariume ilucrTptioni, cipeciiUy 

tk dtwD or iliy, in thoie bao)» ; but Ccivanio, whíIe iaülitiag thcir itylc. 

hu conliiveil tbit >hc ímiutioa ihill be gCHXl. elo^uent Cutiliui j >o ih» both 

Cipnuny ind Pdlíccr ifc cight. 

* Címft Jt Meniiil, ■ plain celebntcil in Spaniíh hiaiarjr m thc iccne of Ihe 
_bilTÍcl>lii! cambtt bawfen King Pcdra of Ciitíle *nd hi> baitard brother. Emiiiur 
Trutamín, ia 1369. in whícb thc furmer wai tlain. It ii ■ diitricl of La 
¡Irading in > wiU, ban plain 10 Ihe nonhem ilopa of ihe Sierra 
ihe moIl chsnctoiitic porlion of an unlonly región. Acconling to 
IIcirS llimnry. Dan Qaiiolf. m Iliii hit finí iilly, itcered a lonrK almoil 
4«f wat of bia naliirt vUligc ; yct Ihe Cimpa ile Munl^cl ii the taachemmott 
pan el L» Minch*. 

43 



^^fc TruK 



Don Quixote 



presen tly he cricd agaín, as though he wcre rcally 
enamoured : — O Príncess Dulcinea, mistrcss of this captivc 
hcart ! Sore wrong lave you wroughi me in casting me off 
and affltccing me with the cruel rigour of your mándate not 
to appear befbre your beautcousness.' Vouchsafc, lady, to 
bear in mind th¡s your vassal heart, which suffcrs pangs so 
grievous for ihc love of you. 

With these he wcnt stringing otber rhapsodies, a!l in the 
fashion orthose which his books had taught him, imitating 
as well as he was able iheir language. And he rodé on so 
leisure^ and ihe sun became so hot thai it was enough to 
melt his brains, had he possessed any^ Nearly the whole of 
thai day he journeyed without meeting anything worthy ot 
mentifin, at which he was in dcspair, -for he loiiged on the 
instant lo cncotuiter some one with whom he might makc 
trial of the might of his strong arm. There are authors who 
say that the first adventure which befell him was ihai of the 
Puerto Lapice; others hold it was that of the windmills;' 
but that which I have been able to ascertain on thís point, 
and which I have found inscribed in the annals of La 
Mancha, is that he rodé a!l that day, and at nightíall his 
nag and himsclf found thcmselves tircd and dying of hunger. 
Looking round on every sidc to sec if he might discover 
some castle or thephcrd's col where he might lakc shcltcr 
and supply his prcssing wants, he descried not fkr ofF frota 
the road on which he was iravelling an inn,' which to him 
scemed as a star lo guide hitn to the portal» if not lo ihc 
palaccs of his redemption.* Quickening his pace, he reachcd 
il just as night set in, There chanccd to be standing at 
hci Aoidlia, f«rnu the priadpit 
.i aüy (ch, vUi.]- 



t mandile, impoteil by Otíi 

.etion in hii iloiy. 

tbae idvmtotn Iwlung lo Ihi 



Faia ái !^w¿i, itlll t 



• híff díicrilxrt, *i(h ■ 



Don Ou'xote 



thc door two young womcn, such as they cali of the game^ 
who were on their way to Seville wiih some muleteers, who 
had happened to tuke up their quarters ¡n the inn that 

King. And since, to our advcnturer, a!l that he thoughi, 
or imagined, seemed to be done and pass aftcr the 
ncr of what he had read, as soon as he saw the inn he 
e himself belíeve thai it was a castie with its fourtowcrs 
spires of shining silver,* nor wanting drawbridge and 
( and all the appurtenances with which such castles are 
painteil,— .Arriving al the inn, which to his mind was a 
castle, when still a httie way otF he drew bridie on Rozin- 
ante, awaiiing some dwarf to plant himself on the baitlements 
and with a trumpet to announce that a Knight to the castle 
was coming. But when he perceived that they delayed, and 
ihat Rozinanie was in a hurry to reach the stable, he went 
up (O thc inn door, whcre he saw thc two wanton lasses 
standíng, whom he betíeved to be two lovely damscls or two 
giaccful dames, taking their recreación at the castle gate. 
[i jfüst then it happcned that a swineherd, who was collccting 
1 thc siubbles a drove of hogs (saving your preeence for 
liing ihcm so'), sounded a horn, ai which signal they 
Dtustered ; and on the instant there was represented what 
Don Qiiixote loolced for, which was that some dwarf was 
giving notice of hís approach. And so, with prodigious 
mpbcency, he went up to the wíhJ^ and to those ladics, 
ling towards them a man thus 



lutred i 



they s 



with lance and shield, were for flying 



{* Dd PaniJt, — whiih i mnc tiamlitor hii boldly itmlcred "i 
■1 prty." TbE lidia nf (hit profruíoo wen known 1)]r iKit cuphen 
)t Spaniíh •tocuiDen». Ii wu. in fici. thc 1^1 nime of publíc * 
diDl to in (dic« of juin It. 

■' Sath ■• ll>c uKiri had in Btlitnis — jw daimn ptn uiw i fuin ¿i 

■ When pig> werr mentioned li wii uiual. in (hal »ge of dílíeieí, to 
Ule, nW 10 olltnd thí rm of ilir heíiti — n lurvivs!, daublleí 
ib limo. (Stt Pan 11. tli. ilv.) 

45 



Don Quixote 



all in fear within thc In 
thcir retrcat ihat thcy i 
pasteboard and disclosii 
with a courteous míen : 
your graces fly not, 



1. But Don Quixote, gathering by 
íere frightcncd, rajsing his vizor of 
g his lean and dusiy countenance, 
ni a placid voice, exclaimed : — L« 
dread anv scathe, for with the ordcf 



of chivalry which 1 profess it doth not consist or comport 
to do aught to any, more especially to maidens so exallcd as 
your appcarance proclaims yoit to be.' 

Thc wenches stared at htm, and sought with all their 
cycs to make out ihe tace which ihat sorry vizor enshrouded i 
but when they heard thcmselves called maidens, a ihing 
so foreign to their proféssion, they could not contain thcir 
laughler, so thai Don Quíxote carne to be nettled and said 
to them : — Civility well becomes the beautiful ; and the 
laugh which proceeds from a light cause is, fUrthermore, 
great foolishness ; bul this I say to you not to oifcnd you 
ñor to incur your displeasure, for my intent is no other than 
to do you serví ce. 

This language, whicli was uníntelligíble to the ladics, 
and the uncouth aspect of our Knight, ¡ncrcased theír 
laughter, which angercd him the more ; and it would havc 
gone much farther if at this moment the innkeepcr bad 
not come out — a man who, tbfougli bcing very fát, was 
vcry pacific. He, seeing that grotesque figure, accoutrcd 
with arms so discordant, as were the lance, shield, and coat 
of armour, with the manner of riding,* was on the poínt 



irwhcrt upgn likc oo;iiioní, at* »ntii¡nc 
: found in thc boaki of chivalriet. uj'ing /icíb fot 
I Ifli /wfu, at (o/iuJ) for Un, etc, Thc/diij not 
oHi litriveit ftom Latín nntil the bíginnlngof the 



> Our knighl hrrc, at 
formí of ipecch, mcb a< 
litílK, fcnma for hmata 
finiUy givc place tu i ii 
fiflecnth ecnluiy. 

' The BpfKítao« of t nun in atmoiir al ■ roadiíde couoíry ínn mutt hive 
been in ilttlf a ilningt and novil ipcctade loa Spiniíb innkwpn. The wEiting 
of (ompleu initi of aimoor had gane out for mote ibau a ccnlurj' bcfoic Don 
jJnútDtF'i dafi. But thc tnriitioni of the fáihioD mut hiTF brm atíll fmb in 
the miada of moi for the inDl[«pei la detecl the ditcordancí luvncD thc 
Mvenl ptrtí of Don {¡uiioie'i tquiprneni. Thc knighl ú dacilbed u ridiof 

46 



1 



on Quixote 



of Iceeping thc wcnches company in their demonstrations of 
mirth. But, in sooth, being afraid of ihac mass of warlilcc 
material, he decided lo speak him fairly, so accosted him 
ihus : — If your worship, Sir Knight, is in cjucst of a lodging, 
saving a btd (for in this inn there is none), evcrything else 
wÜl be found in greai pleniy.' 

Don Quixote, noting the humility of the Governor of 
thc fbrtress (for soch he took the ínnkeeper and the inn 
to be), responded : — For me, Sir Casiellan, whatever you 
will shall suffice, for — 

My ornamen» are arms, _ 

My rcst the battle-frsy.' H 

The host thought that the Knight had calted him a' 

ID ÍBll irmoar, ¿ U brida, wítb faú ttúúi ilung from hii neck. jt la trida 

hoij-aimcd banoncn. with hnvy tlúrapi. Kaigbti (o mounlrd could not 
mry chrir omi >hidil4 on * '¡oiTTitj, whicli wek borne bj (heit iquin*, viho 
fode behind. Thc olhiT raoát o( fiding vu^ la gineu — "jennet-wiu" — thil 
h, w'ah ihon nlrrupi, whícb wu tbe ruhion of light anlry, probablf iolraduced 
ÍBM Sfnin liy the Moon. The incongruity. therefore, wai in Don gulíolc'i 
tauying hú own thitld, Ihough armcd laf-a-^fit, ind ríding á la trida. 

■ The Spiniíh vmu ii col much imptoved lince the dayí of Cenante!. It 
hirdigr cormpoDdi to tbe Englíih " íoa," Meiog thil ¡t profeiin lo provide only 
•heltrr for mu and hone, ivllfa drink. but do food. Thccc are thnc ctaiiet 
of boutet of iccommoditioo ia Spain — finí the Jinda ot holel (the Turkiih 
fináoíi), wbith, ÍD Ibe Urge «ilíei and frtijuenled pUcci, it eijual in comfort lo 
tbc Conlinenlal hotel ; Kcond, the funda, oí inn ptoper, where both food and 
lodtiiig are provided \ ihird, Ihe «nía, facetiouily derived. iiya Fofd, a vrudndc, 
— becaue nolhiag ■• told therc, eicepl, a< oíd Covarnibiaa uyi, a cat fot a hire. 
The «•■"■n. or hoil, ia VC17 independenC, and milce* a favoui of hii «ervice. 
He wlll (ondeacend KMnclimn (o bríng food lo hía goeit, ud ehirgci for hii 
(Niuble m úxt bilí ander thc ilun of ruido (noiac), the generil diilurbance which 
[he iisveilet (autea fay hii comíng. In ihe lime of Cerviolea thc inakeepen 
iiai a vety ill rtpnUtian la being the accomplicei of Ihievct and rcedvef» of 
aisles guoila. (See Úxe pitarea^uc qdvcK ^iiiia.) 

' ThcK I«o lina ate from thc ald bailad : 

Mi dnian» el pelear. 



Don Ouixote 



Castilían because he lookcd like onc of tbe safe men of 
Cast¡l(^,' alihough he was asi AndaJusian and from the San 
Lucar shorc,^ no Icss a ihíef than Cacus or less triclcy than 
student or page. And so he reptied : — According lo that — 

Vour couch shal! be thc flinir rock. 

Voor ilcep to wítch alwiy;* 
and, íl being so, your worship can safely alighi with tbe 
certainty of ñnding in this cottage matter and occasion 
fbr not sleeping a whole twelvemonch, not ta say one 
nigbt. 

Saying ihís he wem to hold Don Quixote's stimip, who 
dismounted with great ditficulty and effort, fbr he had not 
broten íast aJl day. - Ue tben told the host to taicc great 
care of his steed, for it was thc best bit of horseflesh that 
ever ate bread in the world. The innkeepcr lookcd at the 
beast, which did not appcar lo him to be as good as Don 
Quixote said, ñor even one-half ; but he put him up in thc 
atable, and retumed to see what were his gucst's commands, 
whom the damsels {for they wcre now reconcilcd) were 
disarming. They look ofF his breastpiate and back-piece, 
but they could not extricate him from his gorgct ñor rid 
him of the counterfeít helmet, which was fastened with 
grcen ríbbands, whosc knois they could not loóse without 
cutting, to which he would by no means consent. So he 
remained all that night with his helmet on, which was thc 

> Stm di Cauilii — a cint icrm in thc Ijngnagc of CirmMit, or thc thíeiKif 
tbnj of Spiia, for ladran dinviuhdc^ " diíguiícd Üiicf." 

* Thc Playa Ji San Lvari t fmnrilc hount of ngiboadi iDil bul chtnctert 



witb ■ taima» ob.ch iha»i. o ín 


K>nK olhrr piiugei 


f (hit uory. 


(■miliir m tí» moulhi of thc pcople •na 


c their talliili u nel 


u ihclT pm 




•*i«. 





Don Ouixote 



drollcst and stfaiígest figure conccivable. On getting oui 
t)( his armour, ímagíning those draggled and hackneyed üght- 
o'-lovcs ' who disarmcd him to be illustrious ladies and damcs 
of that castlc, he addressed them with much graccfulness : — 



I 



Ncvcr mtc was galUnt knight 
By ladies fair so wel! attendcd, 

As was he, Don QuiíOte highi, 
Whcn from hoinc his way he wi 

Damsels (o him miniscer'd 

And Princeises to his roziti^ — 



Rozinante, which, dear kdies, is my horse's ñame, and 
Don Quixote of La Mancha mine, although ¡t had not 
been my intention to declare myself uiitil the feats performed 
in your service and weal shouid discover me. The necessity 
of accommodating to ihe presenc occasion that oíd romance 
of Lancelot has been ihe cause of your Icarning my ñame 
of ali season ; but the time wiU come when your lady- 

ps may command me and I obey, and the valour of mine 
disclose the desire I have to serve you. 

The wenches, who were not used lo hcar harangues iilte 

> Jifmliat rrtíd*! y llevaáti; lit. " tboK brOU|hi in<l urricd Dn«," 
* Don Qsiiott ipplia to hinutlf the oíd bilbd a! Lancetol : — 



1 De d»míi lan bien Krvi.io, 




1 Come Ua* Laoutou 




i Ciundo de Bt«=fi> vino. 




Que riucñit caidaban del. 




Donetll.1 dr » rocino. 




~D«™n, vol, 


i.p. „S. 


ÍIk tara al the luí word, nú, hii been iQilicroutly : 


minpptthendfd bjr =U .he 




1 .lop .t ™--. Md begm 


|0 Roiiniutel"— miriikiag ihe diijuoetive i ío 


r the interjection. The 


fmnm fot ihe balUdt ¡.r. m evay mk lo Duna 




M volnma b Kiytimijn't lerl» of BtNiuna Ji . 


íim™ Eiftñckt. In ih>>. 




tty Woowo Spinlih bullol 


ffMxi. *trh (U lu virUtioni. 




VOt. I +9 


4 



Don Ouixote 



ihese, answered not a word, only asking him if he would 
ptease to eat anything. — I would some provand, whatever 
it be, Don Quixote replied, for I apprchend it would come 
vcry opportune. 

Xhat day chanced to be Fridav, and there was nothing 
¡n the wholc ¡nn but some portions of a fish which in 
Castile is called abadejo, in Andalusia bacallao^ in some parta 
curadilh, in others truchuela.' They askcd, if his worship 
would haply eat Iruekutla, for there was no other fish they 
could give him to eat. — So there be many troutlets, answered 
Don Quixote, they míght serve for one trout, for it is thc 
same to me whether they give me elght reals severally or 
one piece of eight. Moreover, it may be with these troutlets 
as with vcal, which is beiter than beef, and with kid, which 
Í9 bettcr than goat; but let it be what Íi will, so that il 
comes at once, for the toil and burthen of arms cannot 
be borne without the government of the stomach. 

They set the table at the inn door for coolness, and the 
host brought thc Knight a portion of ilUsoaked and worse 
cooked stock-fish, and a loaf black and grimy as hís armour. 
It was matter of much laughtcr to see him eat, for as he 
kept his helmet on, with the vizor up, he could put nothing 
into his mouth with his own hands without assistancc, so 
one of the damsels performcd. for him thai servicc. But 
to give him drink was impossible if the host had not bored 
a reed, and, putting one end into the Kiiight's mouth, poured 
wine down the other ; and ali this Don Quixote paticnily 
endured rather than they should break the stríngs of his 
helmet. 

While tliey were thus engaged ihere chanced to come 
to the inn a sow-gelder, and as he arrived he blew on his 

' ThcM ne viiiai» Spaniíh lUng nama for lall coi, or itock-fiíb, oc "poor 
Jick"— * diih much in rcs""' '" '" R<>n>v> Cilhotít counlnu for nisgrt 
flayi. TnulaiiU Íi litrnllir "Utilc tiaul," uicd faetÜDUil;, by which CflthH 
Don Quitóte n (di iftécu to br] tukcn in to Micvc U nitb. 



CHAP. 2 



Don Ouixote 



pipe of reeds four or ñve times, which ñnally conñrmed 
Don Quixote in the belief that he was at some famous 
castle, and that they were serving him with music ; that 
the stock-ñsh was trout, thé bread of the ñnest flour, the 
harlots ladies, and the innkeeper the constable of that castle ; 
and, therefore, he was well content with hís enterprise and 
sally. But that which chieily distressed him was the not 
ñnding himself a full-made Knight, he believing that he 
could not lawfuUy enter into any adventure without receiving 
the order of Knighthood. 



51 



CHAPTER ni 

tVhtrtin h rtlaltd ihe pUasent mtlhad by vjhich Din ^i- 
g9t himíilf dubbed Knighi 

TRotiRi.RD by ihis rcflection, Don Quixote cut short 1 
«canty pot-houBC suppcr, which being ended he callcd to t 
innkccpcr, and, ühutiing himself with h¡m ¡n the stabl 
wcni down nn his knees before him, sayíng ; ^ — Never will 
risc from whcrc I am, valiant Knight, until your counes 
«hall accord me ibc boon wbich 1 crave, thc which ! 
rcdound to your praísc and the wcal of the human race. 

The innkccpcr, seeing his guest at his fcet and hcaí 
th«c words, was confbundcd, and stared at him withoi 
knowing what to say or do. He implored him to risc, b 
in vain, until he promised him the boon which was besoug) 
— I loiikcd for no less from your Exalted Magnificcnce, kifl 
Sir, rcuponded I3()n Quixote, and I say unto you that 1 
boon I havc sought of you, and is of your liberality f 
to me, íh that on the morning of to-morrow you should <l 
me Knight i and this night, in the chapcl of lhis your c 
I will kecp vigil of my amns,* and on the morrow, as I I; 



E poilorr, tniilr Enil to Amida ni 
■e clotely Iniliitfd thraughaut thii 






' TI» •■m< ilnninil, lii ihc •im 
Ivlll,]. Thi lingiupinil ■cllon ai 
tlt( kmki nr chlvalrln. 

* Thli tixlnm nf knplnR vigll nn the tyr oí bda( n 
nlifUiuily ubrrMil )r/ tU novica. In th> ÜMirintl i> CtttSn 
ymit iHHiIi In whlcli Ün mMen knight li lo wjlih nod pny. Tbt d 
t»([in tKi i)ubMii| he li la |wh iii pnjTr in «ame chutíhi < ' 

5» 

/ 



[ CHAI-. 3 



Don Ouixote 



J, shall be acconiplished that which I so greatly desirc, 
ihü «id that I may be able, as becometh me, to go through 
ail ihe (bur quarters o( the carth, seekíng for adventures 
on bcha]f of the dístressful, as pcrtains to the oblígation of 
Kntghthood and Kníghis Errant such as I am, whose 
bsirt is bent on such deeds. 

I The innkeepcr, who, as has been 
^ triclcstcr, and by this time had gi 
guesi's lacle of wils, was confirmcd 
he heard lhis spcech ; and in order te 
IBÍght he dctermined to follow him i: 



said, was somewhat of 
t some inlding of his 
n hís suspicion when 
have some sport that 
1 in his humour. So 



prcs 
^^bad 

^Hbot 



told our hero that there was much propriety in what he 
dcsired, and that such a proposal was natural and becoming 
10 Knights so iilustrious as he secmed to be and as his gallant 
prcscnce indicated ; that he himself, in the days of his youül, 
.bud been given to that honourable profession, journeying 

irough divcrs parts of the world loolcing for his adventures, 
"tting the Fish Markel of Malaga, the Islcts of 

jarán, the Compass of Scville, the Aqueduct-Square of 
Scgoi-ia, the Olive Grove of Valencia, the Precinct of 
Granada, the Strand of San Lucar, the Colt-fountain of 

lordova, the Pot-houses of Toledo,* and vañous other 



lijr ht nuit hnr i miia, u 

pliieh tlull rtmain uacovcn 

» koigbt ; ihat he ileai 




lukc dccbi: 



Mccpl only hii ha<t. 



■ira pjn in Ihc ordcr of chivjilry ; anil (tiit he wjll 

\t. Thcn he wbo hai to luiight hím, or same othcr 

ctton, if lo buckle on ihc ondidiCc htt ipuri, ind Ihcn inveil 

xa, which thr nFw knighl unihcalhct. takins an oalh thal he 

i«7, fot h» liw, bii lotd, and hit caunirr. Thia done, ihe 

r knight ii la give him the accolole, laá kii< bím ín token of puce. 

w fomu wen obactvcl by lU the knighti in the booki of chívalrín, who, 

jr Ir their period, thcir llneage. or their counliy, it ü ttireelj' aeceuiry 

[I good Spiniardi and louad Catholici of the ñfteentb cenCury. 

> ti Pirtlula át MaU¡a, blm it RUrin, Cmpui éi Snilla, jtmpajt Ji 

%««, 0;mr< A y«itm-m, RiñMllt át GrtmiJt, Puya it &u> Lacar. Ptirt ái 

OrJhM, ft^itlti ii Ttieit-Úiat: wcre Ihe ilunu u( Spain in thr time of 

fa flowed ill thf vice of the age, — the bornes of 

mían ind Ihe Alialiin, the tul-purte, rogae, and 

53 



Don Quixote 



places, where he had cxercised the lightncss of his feet aiid 
the dextcrity of his hands, doíng many wrongs, solidting 
inany widows, undoing sundry damseU, and deceiving somc 
minors, endíng by causíng himscir to be kitown in almost 
evcry policc-oíSce and couri in Spain ; and at the Ia5t he 
had come to retire to that castle of his, where he líved upon 
his estáte and ihat of oiher people, entertaining thereJn all 
Knights Errant of whatevcr quality or condition they werc, 
solely out of the great affection he bore them, and that they 
míght share with him their substance In payment of his 
good-will. He told Don Quixote abo that there was no 
chapel withín that castle where he could w^tch his arim, 
for it had been puHed down to be rebuilt ; bm that in a 
case of necessity he knew that a vigil might be kcpt where- 
cver he pleascd, and that night he might kecp his watch in 
the courtyard of the castle, and in the morntng, God wilh'ng, 
the other cercmonies might be performed in stich wisc as lo 
leave him a fult-made Knight, as much a Knight as any 
could be in the world. He asked him if he had any money, 
and Don Quixote replied that he had not a doit, kr he had 
ncver read in the histories of Knights Errant that they 
carried any. The innkeeper assured him that he was 
místaken ; he granted that it was not wríttcn in the 
histories, the authors thereof not decming it necessary to 
mcntion a thing so obvious and so nccdful to take wíth one 
as money and clean shirts i nevertheless, it was not lo be 
supposed ihat such were not taken, and ihcrcforc he might 



uto here, » in hii Novelí uul loUt- 
knowleiige, — gitanea, dniib<lf», froin 

S9Í anii 1604. TU ll 



ésna-nit, af wboae lint ind hi 

eiptriaice whcn iffving hú poor nfficet of 

dDñng that dirlc petiml of hi> 

who itiindi oul m vlndly la Üiii Kenc wu cUirlj born fm of the ( 

" tiltctcd undei Meteuty " — a poit-maila of the cfift. He igmlcí ■ 

to Ihe Irielt," humouring Don Quíiotc"» ftaiiy and glibljf pirodyiBg hla pial, 

wbile thovinf hii own fimitiaril]' wilh the wd^i aml the Ecmii oí Kniglil 



Don Ouixote 



accept it for ccrtain and proveti (hat all Knights Errant (of 
which so many of ihc books were ftill and witness) carried 
punes well lined against what might happen, and that they 
also oirríed shirts, and a little box fiíU of ungucnts to heal 
thc wounds they received. For, in the fields and deserts 
where they fought and carne out woundcd, they had not 
always pcople co cure them, unlesa they retained some 
Icarned enchanter as friend co relieve them at once, bearíng 
through the aír on some cloud some damsel or dwarf with 
a phial of water of such viriue that on tasting cven a drop 
thereof, in a tríce they remained whole of their scars and 
wounds, as if thcj" had never received any damage. In 
default of thís, the Knights of o!d toóle assurancc that their 
squires were provided wíth money aiid other neccssaries, 
such as lint and salves for heating ; and when it happened 
that such Knights had no squírcs, of which the cases were 
fcw and rare, they themselves carried everyíhing, in wallets 
so very fine as scarcely to be visible, on the charger's 
tttunches, as though it were something other of more 
importancc ; for cxcept on such occasions this carrying of 
wallets was not much admitted among Knights Errant. 
Whcrefore he counselled Don Quixüte — though as his 
I godson, as he was so soon to be, he (the innkeeper) might 
I evcn command him — not to travel thcnceforth wilhout 
moncy and without thc above - ntentioned requisites, and 
he woutd see how usefiíl they were to him when he least 
expcctcd. 

Don Quixotc promised to pcrform all that was recom- 
mendcd to him with all exaciness ; whereupon he was 
cnjoincd forihwiih to keep watch over his armour in a largc 
yard by thc inn-sidc. Collecting ihe pieccs a!l together, he 
placed them on top of a stone trough which stood ncar a 
w^U, and, buckiing on his shicid, he grasped his lance, and 
bcgan with a jaunty air to pace in front of the trough, Íi 
bcíng now dark when he commenccd his exercise. 
55 



Don Ouixote 



The Undlord told all who were staying in the inn o( his 
guest's craze, the watching of the armour, and the dubbing 
of Knighthood which he awaitcd. Wondering at this 
sirange kind oF madness, they went to look ai him from 
afár, and savr him sometímes padng wíth a tranquil míen, 
sometimes rcsting on his lance, wiih his eyes fixcd on his 
armour, from which he would not takc thcm oiF for somc 
time. The níght had now doscd ¡n, wíth a moon of such 
brightncs3 that she might have vied wíth him who lent it 
to her,' so that whatever our novice did could be plainly 
sccn by all. Just thcn one of the inuletecrs who wcrc ^— 
Btaying in the inn, wanting lo give water to his team, / 
found it necessary to rcmove Don Quixote's armour from 
where ¡t lay on the trougb. The Knight, sceing the man 
approach, exciaimed wíth a loud voice ; — O thou, whosocvcr 
thou art, rash cavalicr ! who comcst to touch the armour of 
the most valiant Errant that cver gín sword on hitnself, — 
takc heed what thou doest, and touch it not, if thou wouldst 
not lose thy life in forfeit of thy tcmerity. 

The muieteer paid no regard to these words (ajid bcttcr 
fot him it had been had he regarded theni, for he would 
have re-guarded his safety *), but, taking hold of the armour 
by the straps, flung it some way from him. When Don 
Quixote saw this, he lilted his eyes to heaven, and addressing 
himself, as it secmed, to his Lady Dulcinea, cried : — Succour 
me, mistress mine, in this the firet afiront which is ofFcrcd 
to this cnthralled bosom : let not your Ikvour and hclp fail 
me in this first triai ! ^ 

And uttcring these and olher such words and loosing bis 
shield, he raised his lance in both handS) and wtth it dealt 

' Mtining, of counr, the lun. 

* In the Drígiail thcre i( i fity upan tbe dooMc muiviag nt aun», h 
attentive lod lo te heUeJ. 

' Tbii iavoatioa by ihi knighl of hi> lidj-love in ll» mama 
cominon foroi in Üie romincei of chivtliy. 

S6 



Don Ouixote 



■CHAT. 3 

9uch a mighty blow on the muletcer's head that it fellcd him 
to the eartb in such ¡1! plight that, if ¡t had been followed 
up with a second, there would have been no need of a Icech 
to cure him. This done, he collected hís armour again, and 
resumcd his wa!k with the same composurc as bcfore. Soon 
after, another muleteer, without Icnowing what had passed 
(for the first stili lay stuiined), carne up with the same pur- 
posc of giving water to his mules, and was going to remove 
the armour so as to ciear the trough, when Don Quixote, 
without speaking a word or asking any one's favour, again 
loosed his shield and again raised his lance, and without 
breakíng ¡t made more than three of the second muleteer's 
hcad, for he broke ít into four pieces. At the noise all the 
people of the ¡nn ran out, and the landlord among them. 
Sedng this, Don Quixote bucklcd on his shield, and, setting 
his hand to his sword, cried : — O lady of beauty ! strength 
and vigour of this debile heart ! now is the hour when yon 
íhould lurn the eyes of your grandeur on this your captive 
Knight, who ís awaiting this mighty adventure ! 

Thereupon he seemed to himself to acquire so much 
couiagc that if all the muleteers in the world had assailed 
him he would not have budged a fooi backwards. The 
companions of the wounded, seeing them in that plight, 
bcgan to shower stones upon Don Quixote from a distancc, 
who aheltercd himself as well as he could with his shield, 
not verturing to leave the horse-trough lest he should seem 
to abandon his armour. The innkecpcr catled out to them 
10 leave him atone, for he had told them already that it was 
a madmzn, and being mad he would be scot-free even if he 
kille^ them all. Don Quixote also cried out yet loudcr, 
calling them cowards and traitors, and dcclaring the Lord 
of the castle to be a craven and a base-born Knight for 
consenting to Kníghis Erraní being so treated, and tha; if 
he himself had reccivcdthe ordcr of Knighthood he would 
bavc made him sensible of his periidy-: — But of you, base 
S7 



Don Ouixote 



and vilc rabble, I make no account. ShtMt ! come on ' 
advance ! assail me as much as ye are able ; you shall see 
ihe penalty you have to pay for your folly and ¡nsoicnce ! 

This he aaid with so much spirit and ¡ntrepidity ihal he 
struck all who heard him wíth a terrible fear ; and thercfore, 
and parily for ihc host's persuasions, they Icft ofF pelting 
him, and he on his part permitted them to carry off thcir 
woundcd, returníng to che vigil oí his arms with the same 
calmness and composure as bcfore, 

These pranks of his guest werc noi to thc innlceepcr'» 
iiking, so he determined to despatch and give him that 
plaguy order of Knighthood forthwith, before othcr mischief 
should happen, Going up to him, therefore, he apologised 
for the insolence with wbich those base fellows had behaved 
wiihout his knowledge, but, he added, they had been well 
chastiscd for their hardihood. And seeíng ihere was no 
chapel tn that castle, as be had said before, there was no 
need, he declared, for the rest of the performance ; that thc 
whole point of Knight-making consisted in the slap of th« 
hand and the stroke on the shoulder, according to his know- 
ledge of the ceremonial of the order, and this could be dooe 
in the middie of a ñetd ^ and that Don Quixote had already 
accompjished a!I that pertained to the watching of arms, 
more by token that he had been more than tbur faours ac 
what might have been finished ofF with a two hours' watch. 

To al! this Don Quixote gave credence, and he said to 
the host that he was thete ready to obey him, praying him 
to conctude the business as soon as possiblc, for, were he 
assaulced again when full Knight, he purposed not to leave 
any one alive in the castle, except those he míght sparc at 
the Castellan's bidding, and out of regard for hím.' 

The Castellan, ihus forewarned, and apprchensive of what 

' Hat iherc i> i triple pliy upan Üic 



Don Ouixote 



might happen, brought out a büok in whích he used to c 
the straw and barley whkh he supplied to the muleteers, 
and, with a caiidle-end borne by a lad, the two dams?ls 
aforesaid with hím, wcnt up to where Don Quixote was 
standing, whom he ordered to go down on his knces. 
Rcading ¡n his manual as though he were reciting some 
dcvout prayer, he brolce off in the middle, and, lifting up bis 
hand, dcait Don Quixote a sound blow on the head, and 
after this a brisk thwack on the shoulder with his own 
sword, slill muttering between his teeth as though he were 
praying, This done, he commanded one of those ladies to 
gird on Don Quixote's sword,* which she did with much 
^ríghiliness and discretion, and ¡t needed no little of that 
t article to avoid bursting with laughter at cach poínt of 
ic cercmonies, though the prowess they had witnessed of 
the new Knlght kept theír mirth within bounds. At the 
gírding on of the sword the good lady said ; — God makc 
your worship a fortúnate K.night, and give you good luclc in 
battlcs ! — Don Quixote besought her to teü him her natne, 
that thenceforward he might know to whom he was indebted 
fbr the favour received, for he designed to bestow on her 
portion of the honour which he was to reap by the 
lour of his arm. Shc replied, with much humiÜty, that 
s La ToUsa,^ and that shc was the daughter of 
ítt cobbler, native of Toledo, who lived among the stalls of 
Sancho Bienaya,' and that, wheresoever she might be, shc 
WBsat hisscrviceand toóle him for her master. Don Quixote 
beggcd her in rcply, for love of h¡m, hcnceforth to assume 
the Den and cali herself Doña Toiosa, which she promised 
to do. The other damsel buclcled on bim his spurs, with 









' Numtrouf pnccdci 


iti in 


lo te fouc 


\ó in ill ihe booki o{ 


chivilrín 


itnoui lidÍM luiítíns 


inlh.^ 


nuking of kníghti. 






' Tllr difinite irliclt 


befofí 


thcDun; 


. ,. iv, U 


To/oM ind 


La Mifi-i' 


li<«ailx índioUi Ihe 


profci. 


inofthtU 


día. 








Minuy,. *.. u. . 


ncicni -¡au 


« of low ih 


opt ¡o Tolcd 




ube* 


MoOTÍlb Ol 

59 




¡alraoyniii 





Don Quixote 



whom ihere passed altnost the same colJoquy as with her of 
ihe sword. He asked her her ñame, aiid she aiiswercd that 
she was callcd La Molinera, and was the daughier of a 
miller of Antequera, Her also Don Quixote besought lo 
lalce upon her the Dan, and cali herself Doña Molinera,' 
renewing his offers of scrvícc and lávoiir. 

Thcsc never-before-seen ccremonies having been 
dcspatchcd ac a gallop and post-haste, Don Quixote could 
not rest till he saw himself on horsebadc, sallyíng forth in 
quest of adventures. So saddüng Rozinantc at once he 
mounted, and, embracing the innkceper, ihanlced him for the 
fevour done in the Icnighting, in tcrms so extravagant as ihat 
it is impossibie to give an exact relation of them. The i'nn- 
keeper, seeing him wcll outsíde his inn, responded to his 
spccches with others no !ess flowcry although more brief, 
and, without aslcing him for the cost ofhis lodging, k-i him 
go with a hearty good-witl. 



■ The niliculi ■> Icvelkd at ihc índlic 
Dtn, which hid iKcome ib ibuK of ibe 
potiry Wfittr lo ihe tffcM ihal the Ji 
lide, nnd that (voi publtc watnai wo 
Eliewhcre Cecvaatei ridiculn the pncticc. 



M II 



i( tht boaoriry ptcBi of 



: il, eipcdilly in AsdalucJa. 




CHAPTER IV 

Ofvihal happentd lo aur Knight ivktn he sallled fram 
Ihe inn 

It was dawn when Don Quixotc went out from the inn, so 
happy, 80 blithe, so cnraptiircd at finding himseír now a full- 
<¡ubbed Knight, that his joy was like to burst his horse's 
ginlis. But the counsels of the host coming into his mínd 
rcspecting the supplies whích he necded to take with him, 
cspccialty of money and of shirts, he resolved to return homc 
and providc himself wíth cverything, also with a squire ; 
calculating on talcing into his servicc a labouring man, a 
lownsman of his, who was poor and liad a famíly, bul was 
vcry fit for the squirely office in Knighthood. With this 
íntcntion he turned Rozinante's head towards his village, 
who, as if he knew that he was on his road home, began to 
I travcl with such good wil! that he scemcd not to put his 
Kt to ihc earih. He had not gene fiír when he became 
tBware that from a thicket hard by, on his right hand, thcre 
* carne feini soiinds as of some one complaining, and no 
(ooner díd he hear them ihan he exclaimed : — I thank 
Hcavcn for the favour accorded me, secing that ii places 
bcforc me so promplly occasions for me to perform that 
which is duc to my profession, and whence I may be able to 
gaihcr the fruit of my good dcsires, These cries, doitbtless, 
d from some man or woman in distress, who has need 
• protcction and assistance, — Then, turning rein, he 
6i 



Don Ouixote 



vá^SoEinante tawards the spot M-hcncc the volee scemed 
tfrp ft BC ti l I ' and, at a fevr paces from the entrance into the 
wood, lie saw a oag tied to an oak-tree, and lo siioiher a 
youth, iiaked lo hís middle, about fifteen ycare of age. This 
was he who was uticring ihose cries, nor wUhout cause, for 
1 sturdy fcllow of a peasant was floggíng him souiiJly wíth 
a waist-belt, and acCompanying each sirokc wiih a reproof 
and a p¡ccc of advice, for he would cry — jf stiÜ lengue and a 
rtady eye ! The bd was saying in reply : — I will not do so 
any more, mastcr ; by the passion of God ! VW not do so 
any more ; and I promisc to takc better care of the floclc in 
futurc, — Seeing what passed, Don Quísote cried out wíth 
aji angry voice : — 111 ¡t beseems yon, díscourteous Knight, 
to cngagc with ene who cannot defend himself. Moimt 
vour steed, and takc your lance (for the other also had a 
lance resting agaínst the tree to which his mare was made 
last ^), that I may tcach you that what you are doing is a 
coward's deed. 

On beholding that figure in full armour come at him, 
brandishing a lance over his head, the peasant gave himself 
up for a dead man, and so answered with gcntle words : — 
Sir Knight, this youth whom I am beating is my servant, 
whom I employ to look after a flock of sheep I have in 
these parts, and lie is so careless that every day I miss one, 
and, because 1 chastise his earelcssness or his roguery, he 
declares I do it out of miserliness, so as not to pay him the 
duc wages, and, on God and my soul, he lies I 

' A pttciidy (irDiUT irivcnture wii thsl of Don BfIUsíi whuí 
■ forr», he batA loud triei which Kcmcd lo pnKied from penoo* wbo W 
gr»l ciCTcmity {Btlmmi t/Graci. ble. i. ch. iv.J. 

' 7ivm thit Jt a rvidcnl thit Ihe iiock-icecpcn inii H(Kk-m»len m tlwt i 
cirricd Unen whilc MCuplcd ia ihcir buiinw. Cemntct himieir. ia hii noi 
of the Celli^y tftiu Tm Digi Scifin íüJ Strgaaa. iptalti of i f.nncf oha we 
Dvcr iht CDUBtry toaking iflcí hii diccp, "riding «pon t a»g vilh luiCC • 
ihidd." So th>t Üic ipcttitlí of tn ítniíd honetmn im Ihe highwij w» nal la 
t, eisept ■> lo the imioar, in ihoie diyi. 



Don Ouixote 



— Do yon lie before me, wretched clown ? cried Don 
Quixote. By the sun whidí shines above us, I will run 
you through and through with this lance. Pay him ai once, 
without another word, or, by the God who rules us, I finish 
and annihilate you thís moment. Unbind hím instantly! — 
The peasant bowcd his head, and without answering a word 
releascd his servant, of whom Don Quixote ¡nquired how 
much his mastcr owed him. He answered, for nine months, 
at seven reals a monih. Casting it up, Don Quixote fbund 
it carne to sixty-three rea/s, and he bade the peasant disbursc 
thctn on che instant unless he had a mind to die for it. The 
ruatic, in a fright, repÜed that by the pass in which he 
stood and the oath he had sworn (though he had sworn not 
at all), it was not so much, for there had to be deducicd and 
taken into account thrce paire of shocs he had given the 
lad, and onc real for two h!ood-lcttings when he was ill. 

— It is wetl, Don Ouixote answered ; let the shoes and 
the blood-lettíngs go for the lashes you have given him un- 
dcservcdly, and ¡f he has craclted the leather of the shoes you 
gave, you have ctacked that of his body ; and if the barber 
drew his blood when sick, you have drawn it tn health i on 
ibflt Bcore, thereforc, he owes you nothing. 

—The worst of it ¡s, Sir Kníght, that I have no moncy 
here. Let Andrés come with me home, and I wiil pay him 
rtai by nal. 

— I go with him ! cried the bd ; no, indced ! Dcvil a 

bit I No, sir, I don't intend to i for, going with him alone, 

e will skin me like a Saint Bartholomew. 

— He will not do so, replicd Don Quixote. It is enough 

I I lay my command on him for hím to respeci it ; and 
D condition that he swcars to me on tlie law of chivalry he 

( raccived, 1 will let him go frcc ¡uid will guaraniee the 
^inent. 

— Good your wonhip, look ye what you say, quoth the 
iouth, for this my master is no Knight, ñor has he rcccJved 



Don Ouixote 



any ordcr of chivairy, for he U Juan HaJdudo d 
Uves at Quintanar.' 

— Thal is no maticr, Don Quixote teplied ; for therc 
may be Haldudos Knights ; the more as evcry onc ts ihe 
child of his works.^ 

— That is truc, cried Andrés j but this tnastcr of mine, 
what worics is he the child of, sincc he denies me my wagc, 
tny sweat, and my toil ? 

— I denv it not, brother Andrés, answered the peasant ¡ 
do me the ftivour to come with me, and I swear by all the 
orders of chivííry in the worid to pay you as I have said, 
rea/ by rea/, and perfumed into the bargain.* 

— The perfuming I excuse you, said Don Quixote ; givc 
it to him in reals^ with that I am content, and take care that 
you accomplish what you have sworn to, or else, by the like 
oath, I swear to seek you out once more and to chasdse you ; 
and I shall find you even though you h¡de yourself as idose 
as a lizard. And if you would know who it is that lays this 
command on you, and in order that you may rest under the 
greater obiigation to comply with it, learn that I am the valor- 
óos Don Quixote of La Mancha, the undoer of wrongs and 
injuries ; and God be with you, and be not false to what you 
have promised and sworn, on pain of the forfeit pronounccd, 

Saying this, the Knight clapt spurs to his Rozinante 
and was quiclcly gone from them. The farmcr followcd 
him with his cyes ; and when he saw htm dtsappear, clcar of 
the wood, he camc back to his servaní Andrés, and said to 

' A lawn on the borilcr of New Ciittile, a diy'i joumcy from Don {¿uiiolc'i 

3 CiJa ano II ají ik ui ebrai — an ■□(ieat promb, tepatci! by Suncho, Pan 1. 
(h. «IvLL, iml by Don Cuiíote, Pin II. ch. «lü. 

' SpoluD fuctliauíl]!, ID datóle ihii he would gíve witii gsad-viU tni ¡a fall 
maniTC The phrue Íi lucd repotedly by Cernint» in Dta ^nu alé in bit 
novel of Swaneír y Orlaáma ; nUo in CnwM lU Atf*r*ti». We ba** á 
iloiilii fonn ia Engliih iling : for in cumple, Me Oirvf- Tvna, cb. ilüi^ wIwtc^ 
ujion ihe ArtTul Dodgei iiking, "Wheic ut my prívilegat" the jlll«r Rflía : 



" Yoo'll get your privílegtt •( 



oiigh — and p^peí with 'irl" 

64 



Don Quixote 






i^me hither, my son, for I wish to pay you whai I 
owe, as ihat undoer of wrongs ordered me to do. 

—And on my oath, said Andrés, you would do we!l to 
comply wiih thc ordcr of that good Knighr — may he Uve a 
thousand y^ais !— who is 50 brave and so just a jitdge [hat, 
on my lifc,' if you don't pay me, he wíÜ come back and do 
what he said. 

— That I, too, sweüT, quoth thc fermer ¡ but, for the mucfa 
love I bear you, I wish to increase the debt that I may add 
to the discharge. — And seizing him by thc arm he ticd him 
once more to the tree, where he gave hím so oíany strípes as 
lo Icavc him for dead. — Now, master Andrés, cali upon tjiat 
undocr of wrongs ; you ahall see that he does not undo this 
one, though I thinJc I have not ñnishcd the doing of it, for 
1 have a mind to flay you alivc, as you were fearing.^But 
he umied him at last, and giving him leave to go and look 
fbr his judge to execute the prescribcd sentence. Andrés 
vntit ofF in dudgeon, vowing he would go in seardi of Don 
Quixoic of La Mancha, and tell him exactly what had 
passed, and that he would have to be paíd scvenfold. Never- 
theless, he wept as he wcnt along, and hís master rcmained 
bchtnd Uughing ; and thus did the valiant Don Quixote 
redress the vfrong. 

As to the Knighr, greatly elated at what had passed, it 
appearíng to him that he had made a very happy and noble 
bcginning of his chivalrics, he rodé on towards his village, 
much pleaseil with hímself, repcaling in a low voíce : — Ríght 
,wcll mayst thou be called fortúnate above all women who 
day are alive on earth, O beyond all the beauties 

lUteous Dulcinea del Toboso I since it has fatten to tby 
to hold subject and submíssive ta thy entíre will and 
pleasure a Knighi so valorous and renowned as ¡s, and shall 

' lo the «rlginil Andrít iweiri " by Roque." ■ common oilh, Üiaugh who ot 
a Roy» á na me now koaw). >7w Xifur ii oicd by Sancha levcn! tíocí 
>t ih» «1017. 
VOL. I ^S ^ 

:'' '■■"-- A. ; j-, 



Don Quixote 



be, Don Quixote of La Mancha, who, as all the World 
luiows, bul yestcrday received the order of Knighthood, and 
to-day has redressed the greatest wrong and outrage that 
injustice ever conceived or cmelty perpcCratcd ; to-day hath 
he wrcstcd the scourge from the hand of that mereileas fbc 
who so causelessly was beating that delicate infant. 

Thereupon he arrived at a spot whcre the road branched 
into four, and anón there carne tnio )i¡s fancy ihc cross-ways 
whcre the Knights Errant werc used to place thcmselves to 
pondcr which of the roads they should take. After thcír ex- 
ampie,' he stood still a. w{iile, and aftct he had well rcfiectcd, 
he jet loóse the reíns on Roziname, submitting his will to 
that of his steed, who foHowed his first intcntion, which was 
to go straight the way of his stable. Having procecded 
about two miles Don Quixote descried a great throng of 
people, who, as he afterwards learnt, werc mcrchants of 
Toledo going to buy sillc in Murcia,* There were stx». 
carrying their umbrellas,* with other ibur, scrvants, on horse- 
back, and three muleteers on foot. So soon as Don Quixote 
madc them out, he conceived it to be a matter of ncw 
adveniure, and, to imitate as much as was possibte of the 
passes * he had read of in his books, it seemed to him that 
ihís was prcsently one such as he designed to perform i and 
so, with a gallant air and resolute míen, he settlcd himsdf 
firmly in his slirnips, grasped his lance, brought hís sbield 
over his breast, and stood waiting, posted in the míddle of 

> Bowle (itu many panUel pauígH in the ramiBcci of rhínlrj ¡ which il ü 
nccdloi ta re^^uotc^ u i timilir choice of roed uniler like circumnuicn hw bon 
Dude by Letoei of Dovtlt innomcribic, incient ind moileiti. 

* Murcia wu then Üu leal of the chicf lilk minufictun ia Sptín. In hk 
Diíairm Hiusriai, 1611, Caíala »>yi that in [híl yar that vete ]55>5iM 
muLbory tita in Murcia, which proiiuced more thaa ■ millina of p(7uodj of líllu 
tn Üiae dayí the growlh of lilk lo the provinoe hai grutly dcdíotd. 

* ^iraalti — lit. "panaolt" — finí uicd in Spiin maj ynn llcfon ihcy 



P*»'4 



Don Ouixote 



the road, the advent of tliose Knights Errant (for so he to^ 
and judged them co be) ; and when they had arrived so near 
that they could see and hear, Don Quixoie lifted his voiCc, 
and, in a haughty tone, excUimed : 

— Let aÜ the worW ha!t, íf all the world does not confess 
that therc is not in the whole world a damscl more beautíful 
than the Empresa of La Mancha, the pecrless ' Dulcinea 
del Toboso. 

The merchants stoppcd at ihe sound of thcse words, and 
31 sight of the strange figure of him who spokc them ; and 
t>y them and the ñgure they at once divined the madness of 
thcir owncr. Being desirous of knowing more fuUy whither 
that confession tejided which he requircd of them, one of the 
party, who was a bit of a wag and very sharp-wítied, said to 
Don Quixoie : — Sir Knight, we know not who that good 
hdy may be you speaic oí; show her to us, and if she is so 
beautiful as you report, with ríght good will and wtthout any 
compulsión wÜI we confess the truth of what, of your part, 
is denunded of us.' 

— If 1 show her to you, replíed Don Quixote, what merit 
wotild there be in your confessíng a truth so manifest ? 
The essential thing is that without seeing her you must 
belicvc, confess, affirm, swear, and maintain it ; otherwise 
you engage wilh me in batlle, ye proud, prcposterous crew ; 
and now come on ! one by onc, as the rule of chivalry 
reijiiires, or all together, as is the custom and base usage of 
ÜKise of your brecd ; here I stay and await you, confiding in 

e right I havc on my sidc. 

Sir Knight, replied the merchant, 1 bcseech you in the 

me of all these princes here prcsent that, in order that we 
L burdcn our consciences by lestifying to a thing 

' ¿d 11* far—m cpiíhn lint ijiplieil to Orlini, tíie miitreti of Aniiilú, tai 
hcrwirdi ndopieil in all Üii romanea la qualify all the heroiaci. 
* Tbc ToitiliB merduDl iiiía the ume poinl u wu niacd by the Knight 
it Croa «rliM tbt hidi kind of ctullengr uai mide to him by the Bold 
in Ike bwk of Et Caiallm át la Crm, ble, i. ch. civ. 

67 



Don Quixote 



ncver scen or hcard of by us, and thc more síncc ¡t ¡s so 
much to ihe prejudice of the Empressca and Qucens of 
Alcarria' and Estremadura, that your wonhíp be good. 
cnough to show us a porirait of that lady, although Jt be 
no biggcr tban a barley-corn, for by the thrcad the cluc is 
discovered,^ and we shall rest satiatied and assured with this, 
l'and you remaiii contení and satJsticd. Nay, I believe that 

are already so much oo hcr side that, tliough her portrait 
show her lo us a-squint of one eye and distiUíng vcrmílion 
and brimstotie from the othcr, neverthcless, ín ordcr lo p]e3sc 
you, we will say all that you wish in her favour. 

— There distils not, ye intamous rabble ! responded Don 
Quixote, incensed with anger ¡ — there distils not, I say, 
what thou spealcest of, but only amber and ci^tt ; ñor is she 
crook-eycd or hump-backed, but straighter than a spíndle ot 
Guadarrama.^ But ycsHalí pay for thc foul blasphcmyye havc 
uttered against such transcendcnt beauty as that of my hdy ! 

So saying, he charged with lowered lance against him who 
had spoken, with such wrath and fury, that, if his good 
fortune had not so ordered as that Rozinantc should tríp and 
íall in mid career, it would have fared ill with thc rash 
merchant. Rozínanie fe 1 1, and his m áster went rolling 
some distance along the pbin ; ñor when he wanted to risc 
was he able to do so, encumbered as he was with his lance, 
target, spurs, and helmet, logethcr with thc welght of thc 
antique armour. And, whüc he struggled to get up and 

> A diitrict of Ne» Caitilc, un the Itft binlc of the Hcoircl, of which 

ptMuoubly ont of ihc mcrduoU wu ■ DitÍH- 

' Par (/ iib a ¡acara il vaitk — olí! piDvrrli : SfiatrÜ it mn jvÜ» — Eruni 
Adagi». 

* Guidiitama — ■ nngcof moDnUÍntnorth-wcit of Muflid, i!ivi<liag Oíd (ton 
Kew CjiítiLc ind Ihc tasin of the Douia fiom tbil ef lh< Tigu. Thence tilow 
ta wintcr lad ipríng ihoie k«n, picrcing «indi whith mike Ü» climitr uf tbc 
opilil v¡ qnpleinnt. The "ipindle of Guidarnnii" (hua Ik Gam¿aTtm*\ 
nfert nut to ibc ¡mplenwnt, lo alltd broaic mide of Ibe beeeh whicb grom 
there, bul (o a imíght [vik of the mnuotún. £ci tmat Ji GmJiirrama ii > 
fhntt itill tpplied lo I poitioa of Ihc nogc 

68 



Don Quixote 



^H^irr 



not, he kept shouting : — Fice not, coward broodl 
Stay, ye caiiifFcrew ! for not by any fault of mine, but of my 
horsc, am I stretched here.' 

A muleteer of the company, who was not over good- 
natured, hearing the poor fallen gentlcman utter these saucy 
specchcs, could not rcírain from giving him the response oji 
his ribs i and coming up to hinn he seízed liis lance, and 
having broken it into pieccs, with one of ihem bcgan to 
bebbour him, eo that, in spite and deiíance of liis armour, he 
pounded hítn hkc wheal in a mili. His masters called out to 
him to desist and let the gentleman be; but the muleteer 
was piqued, and would not give up the game till he had gone 
the wiiole stake* of his anger. Catching up the other 
pieccs of the bncc, he shivered them ali over the poor ^len 
one, who, amid all that tempest of blows which rained upon 
lim, never closcd his mouth, hurling threacs to heaven and 

th against the brígands, as he took them to be. 

At last the muleteer tircd himsclf out, and the merchants 
'pursued thcir journey, carrying with them mattcr enough to 
talk about fbr the rest of the way concerning the poor 
bclabourcd one. He, when he found himself alone, again 
iricd if he were able to rtse ; but, if he couíd not do so 
when sound and well, how could he after being pounded 
and almost beaien to pieces í Yet st\\\ he esteemed 
imeelf as fortúnate, it seeming to him that thís was a 

áster proper to Knights Errant, and he attributed it all 

the fiíl! of his horse ; ñor was it possible for hím lo rise, 

bruiscd and tnauled was all his body. 



I So Angélica 



lier !— 

Peh, diiK rila, Sigí 
Che iti aia non < 
M* 'Icl talsila. 



(ill o( Sicripantc, overthrawn bjr 



T ultai ftom Iht gimt of Piquei 

69 



CHAPTER V 

fVherein h eontinued the narrative ofaur KnighftM 
áistater 

FiNDiNG that in very fact he was unable to scir, the Knight 
was minded to have rccourse to his usual remedy, which 
was to think of some passage in hís books, and his frenzy 
brought to his memory that of- Count Baidwin and the 
Marquess of Mantua when the firet was left woundcd by 
Carioto on the mountain > — a story familiar to children, not 
uiilcnown to youth, cnjoyed and even bclieved by oíd men, 
and for all that no truer than the miracles of Mahomed. 
Now this seemed to hím to come pat to the pass in whicb 
he found himself ; and so, with signs of great sufferíng, he 
began to roll himself about on the ground, and to repeat, 
with feeble breath, what the wounded Knight of the Wood 
is reported to havc said : — 



1 The i 



biUidi 



o (he d 



xú> i. 



(VildovÍD«) Ii lo be fouad in Duian'i cDUcction, voL i. p. loj, uxí tbey ue 
■mong the bciE, » they are Ihc longut ind moM dábante, af tS\t Spuiíih 
haltirli Rlalíng to the CarlovinginD ¡eftnii — foll of poclit gttce, Inth, inil 
tbnplidljr, dnd gíving ía ínterntisg pcturc of chivilHc minntn md icnlinUBL 
Though the liDguige hu been modemÍMd, ihe bslliili thcimclv» m bclicVEd 
by Clemencin to bt of the thirteentb centuiy. BtWwin wu one of the Twelve 
Peeraof Fruici!. The tnitorCirlota wamonof Chírleniigiie. The Mwqoeit 
of MintDi, by whom ihe murder of Bild«-¡n viii dúcoveiri! and avengeil, wi» 
hii onde, and Kctni lo he ideuticil with the Pilailia bclter known la Opa Úie 

70 



Don Ouixote 



Whcre hidesc thou, O mlstress mine, 
That thou grievest not for me ? 

Or thou knowest noc of my plíght, 
Or falsc and faithless ihou must bc' 



And in this wise he went oi 
] the lines which ran :- 



repeating the bailad until he 



O noble Maiquess of Mantua, 
My únete and my natural lord ! 



I As fortune ordered it, whcn he arrived at this verse there 
chanced lo pass by there a labouring man of his own village 
tnd a neighbour of his, who was going to take a Joad ot 
whcat to the mili. He, seeing a man lyliig there, went up 
to hím, and aslced who he was and what mishap he was 
bewailing so dolefully. Don Quixote believed this to be, 
without doubt, the Marquess of Mantua, his únele, and so 
he gave no answcr, but went on with his bailad, in which 
he told of his disastcr and of the amours of the Empcror's 
son with his spouse, all as it is sung in the romance. The 
Ubourer was astonished at hearing these rhapsodies, and, 

Iuking ofF the Kníght's vizor, which was now-broken to 
picccs with the beating, he wiped hia lace, which was 
I Tb) 
linde 
feFb, 



Tbm U 



m not [o le faund ■> quotcd in iht orígiail ballail, but in one 
it of liLer date, fín> pobliibed in the RtmoBore Gnitral, oF Pedro 



' O noble MarquM de il. 



Mi ti 
n the o 



■ 1 Küot (irnat. 



Cervuite* i> evidnlly ^noliDg froi 
<a¡ ii Iketillj' " UDCle oí my fleth," U. uoele bj hlooii— th 
!• being ■ brothet of ibe blhcr of Baldwín. 
7Í 




Don Ouixote 



covcred wíth dust, and, when he had wiped it, he recog- 
niscd him,' and cried : — Señor Quixada {for so was he 
named when he had his wits and had not passed from a 
peaceful gentlcman into a Kjiight Errant), who has 
brought your worship to thia püght ? — But still the 
Knight went on wiih his bailad, and madc no other 
answer to alt questions. Perceiving ihií, the good man 
took ofF, as well as he could, his breast-plate and corslet 
to see if he had any wouiid, but he found no blood, ñor 
sign of any. He tried to raise hitn from the ground and 
set him, with no little troubk, upon his own ass, which 
secmed to him the easíer mount. Gathering up his arins, 
even to the fragmenis of the lance, he fastcned thetn upon 
Rozinantc, whose bridle he toóle hold of, as well as of the 
ass's halter, and so journeyed towards iheir village, in much 
distress at hearing the- nonsense which Don Quixotc 
uttercd. Ñor less dolefully did Don Quixotc go, who^ 
of the shecr beating and bruising, could not keep his 
3eat on the ass, giving vent from time to time to groans 
that secmed to rend the skies, so that the labourer was 
compelled to aslc him once more what hurt he fclt. And 
it seemcd that the devil himself put ínto his mlnd the 
«lories suitable to his mishaps, for, forgetting Baldwin at 
that moment, he bethought him of the Moor Abindarraex 
when the Govcrnor of Antequera, Rodrigo de Narvacz, 
scized and held hím prísoner tn his castlc.^ So that when 

> Full of hii hllsd, Ceivinla nukci ihe libourer to do prtciii 



: o( Antc^ucri by Jiun II., b 



n leadrr igaiml ll» MMÍ 



Don Ouixote 



: labourer asked him agaín how he was, and how he fell, 
Don Quixoie rcpiicd in the same words and phrases which 
(he captive Abencerrage used to Rodriga de Narvaez, as he 
had rcad the story in ihe Diana of Jorge de Montemayor, 
whcre it is writtcn,^ applying it so aptly to his case that the 
labourer wished himself at the devil for hearing such a heap 
of foolerics, Discovering thereby that his neighbour was 
mad, he made hasce to reach the village so as to be rid of 
the worry of Jisteníng to Don Quixote's long harangue. 
At the cióse of it the Kníght exclaimed ; — Let yoiy 
wnrship Sir Don Rodrigo de Narvaez know that this 
lady Xarífe, of whom I have spolcen, ¡s now the feir 
Dulcinea del Toboso, for whosc sake 1 have done, am 
doing, and shall do, deeds of chivalry the most famous 
ihat have been, are, or will be, secn in the world. 

To this the labourer replied : — Look ye, Sir, sinncr that 
I am, I am no Don Rodrigo de Narvaez ñor Marquess of 
Mantua, but Pedro Alonso, your worship's townsman i 
ncither is your worship Baldwin ñor Abindarraez, but the 
worthy gentleman. Señor Quixada. 

— I know who 1 am, answered Don Quixotc, and I 
lenow that I could be not only they ot whom I have 



> The •iDTj Df Abiodimei, ■ Doble Moor of Gnaid» of tile íttaiíj of the 
Id in tlic o[d chroDÍcIei, ind vru the tabject of a billi<l bcfore 
duced by Montemiyot [ato hii paitoral foaa of Diana. Cervaala, 
p nnul, not having ipptrcatlj ihe me of iny librar;, ¡fiota the itory wroogl)'. 
~ t Mooc wu nevcr kept bj Nurvací in conÜDcment. Takeo priioaet in in 
going to kccp ID ippoiDtment made h¡ hit miitrcu, Xari&, 
W lUaghler of ihe Mooriih govcmor of Cáctima. Abíndama wai n[e»ed od 
n ot prcKnling himiclf it Antequeta in thric ifp. He kept hii word, 
■ bit Xarífi beariog him companj'. Tonched by hii chivalroui loyalty uid 
hi» comÜtioo, Narvací gave the [oven Iheit libcfXy, ind evea 
( ao eacort with them lo a place of afety. Thí Incidrot ii la be found 
iKotded ia the Moatíifa hiitorín, ind the gcneroaíty oí che Chríitiao govcraot, 
(Etbet wtlh Ihe good fiitfa «nd the romiDlic lovc of ihi Moor, ha> beca a 
I aubJHt of ronunct and tnllaii. (Scc Duran, vol. ii. p, ■□;.} Lepe 4e 
Te^ Bude a play un it. Ei ¡tmi^ A ¡a DiiSeia. 

73 



Don Ouixote 



spoken, but ail the Twcive Pecrs of France,' ayc, and all 
the Nine of Fame,^ since all the cxploits ihey performed 
together and each by himsclf are surpassed by mine, 

Thus discoursing, they reached the village abouc ihc 
hour of sunset, but the labourer waíted until it should be 
a little darker in order that the battercd genilcman mighc 
not be seen on so scurvy a mount.* When he thougbt it 
was fit time, he cntered the village, and went to Don 
Quixote's house, which he fbund all in uproar i for the 
Priest aiid the Barber of the place were there, great friends 
of Don Quixote's, to whom his housekceper was crying at 
the top of her voice : 

— What think ye, Master Licentiate Pero Pérez (for 
such was the Priest's nanic), of my masier^s míshap? Sim3 
days * it Ís that they have not been seen, he and his horse ; 
ñor the shicld, ñor the lance, ñor the armour. Woe ¡s me ! 
and I am certain, and it ís as truc as that I am born to die, 
that those cursed books of chivalries which he has, and Ís 
used to read so often, have turned his brain ; for, now I 

■ Thr Twdve Peen, of whom frajutot mention wíll be nwde Ío (h» Korj, 
weic ■ body of the mosl funoot kaíghu ín tiu Court of ChatlemiEDe, uid to 
hivc becD inglituleil by Üial mongrcli In imilatíon of King Arthor*! Ronmi) 
T.!>le. The Dune* of Ihe Peen >re variouily given m Üie legen.li. The meit 
fimouí, whu ippear in every cjtilopie, were Roland, Olivcr, Guy of burgnniljr, 
Rinildo Dt MoDUlnn. Richiid of Nomuadjf, tn¿ Ogíct Ihi Dinr. In th« 
ChdHiai di Roíatd, which ii belíevcil lo be aotetior Ín díte (o üir |iKudo-cbroaictc 
of Tarpin, inJ therefore la all ihe l^mdi ind ronuncet ipríngíiig from ihlt 
touice, (Rilf Rolaail loil Oliyer of (hcK are mentioned, wbile the icnuining ten 
lie almoii unkaown in the olher fabln. 

■ The Nine of Fainc, or the Níne Worthjei, wen ibiee Chriiliini, King 
, Artbur, Clutknugaf, and Godfrejr of Bouillon j ihiee Jewi, Joihuí, David, md 

Jodat Mtecabeut ; three Gcnlílti, Aleonder, Héctor, uid Juliui Ccuri S«e 
Shikipeire. i Haaj iy„ Acl ii. >c. 4 : — " Thou irt » viloroui it Héctor 
of Troj, wotlh five of Agamemnaa. mil ten iTmn bettir tbin tlie NÍbc 
Worthiei." 

' ¥wftii m vktn Bl mefíde iiiLilgp laa mil rtiajlin — ihe poíot af whidí ¡t 
nrcewaril]' lo>t ío Eagliih. we having no wocit líke faiílltrt, to •ignifj' ■ 
rider on honcback ind i dcgice of gHi(iiil)i. 

* It a ntictly ■ little len üua two diyt, u the precÍM Clemencia r 

7í 



-! 



Don Ouixote 



inind me, I have heard him say ofien, spcaking to himsd^ 
ihat he would turn Kníght Errant and go abouc in those 
worlds sceking adventures. Let them go to Satán and to 
Barabbas those books, for they havc spoilt ihe finest under- 
standing there ivas in all La Mancha. 

The same sa¡d the Niecc, and she said moreovcr: — Know, 
Master Nichotas (for such was the Barbcr's ñame), thai 
many times it has happencd lo dear únele to be readíng in 
those impious books of disventures ^ for two days and two 
nigbts together, at the end of which he would íling the boolc 
from his hands, draw his sword, and go slashing at the wails ; 
and when he was tíred out he would say he had killed four 
giants likc four towers, and the sweat which he sweated out 
of bis cxhaustion he would say was blood from the wounds 
be had reccivcd in the battie, and thcn he would drínk ofFa 
grelt pitcher of cold water, and rest quiet and easy, saying 
that the water was a very precious liquor which the sage 
Esquife ^ had brought him, a great enchanter and a friend of 
bis. But I take the blame of it alt on me for not havíng 
told you of my uncle's follies, so that you might have relieved 
him bcfore he carne to what he has come, and might have 
burnt all these execrable books, of which he has a great many, 
whicb well desen'e to be burnt as if they were heretics. 

— So I say, too, quoth the Priest ; and i' faith, to-morrow 
shall not pass without a puhlic process ' being held of them, 
and let them be condemncd to the flames so that they may 
gtvc no occasion to such ai read them to do what my good 
J must have done. 

All this was ovcrheard by the labourcr and by Don 

* Dtmtiiiisifi, — a dyilogiític toLojgr n( the Njccc't. 

' Eijiáfi (> inull boat, i Mff), in intEnliocil rfutnajai dcpicciitory (at 

ftife, the (imoui «Khanter in ¿Imaáis, lii 

~ M fmiiia, le. aUf-Ji-Jt. Fu iami 

ttt-J*'J}, wlikh hii come to be Angliciied tai uwd 

, Evcn whcti llicy 4n acu of ihc Spiaiih Xana't 

75 



iHhci iC ii Ün Porl 



de Narvaez, govcrnor of Aiitequera, leads 

At ihis cry ihcy all carne out, and rcco¡ 
fricnd, others their master and luiclc, — \ 
dismounted from his ass, for he was not al 
embrace him. But he said : — Forbcar, all 
sorc wounded through the íault of mysu 
bed, and summon, tf ít be possible, Urganc 
she may examine and hcal my hurls. 

— See now in an ill hour, cried the H( 
hcan did not tcll me ríght on which foot m 
Come up, your worship, and welcome, and 
Tor that Urgada" we shall know how to 
Accursed, say I, may they be agaín, and i 
more, those books of chivairíej which brougj 
lo this pass I 

They carried hím straight to bed and i 
ivounds but found none, he saying that he wi 
through having a gricvous fall with his hoü 
a ñghc wiih ten gianis, (he most enormous a 
be found almost anywhere upon carth. 

—So ho, quoch ihc Pricst, are there gianl 
By my halídomc, but I will burn thcm to 

■^ ■ The Kirlcr of IVat'irUy wiJt rcmembcr ibc ttSeOiix 
^■tat mder and \atri of Ctrvsata, inikn of Ibii [uuigr, iA 



CHAP. 5 



Don Ouixote 



night comes. — They put many questions to Don Quíxote, 
but to none would he malee other answer than that they 
should give him something to eat and let him sieep, for that 
was of most importance to him. They did so, and the 
Príest inquired more particularly of the labourer of how Don 
Quíxote had been found. The labourer told him everything, 
with the fooleries the Knight had uttered when found and 
as he was brought -along, which increased the desire of the 
Licentiate to do that which next day he díd -y which was to 
cali on his friend the Barber, Master Nicholas, and go with 
him to the house of Don Quixote. 



77 



CHAPTER VI 



Of the pleasant and /amsui Injuisitim wh'ich ikí PrUit 4 
tbe Barber hela on iht übrarj of eur Ingeniaui Gtntleman 

He was still siceping.' The Priest asked the Niece íbr 
the keys of the room wherc the books wcre kept, the authors 
of the mischief, which she gave him with a vcry good vñW. 
Xhen they all wcnt ¡n, the Housekeeper with them, and 
found more than a hundred large volumes,' vcry wcU bound, 
and othcr smaller ones ; and, as soon as the Housekeeper saw 
thcm, she ran out of the room again in a great hurry, 
returning presently with a vesscl of ho!y water and a bunch 
of hyssop.' And quoth she : — Look you, Master Licentiate ; 
lake and sprinkle this room, lest there be here some cnchanter, 
of the many these boolcs contain, lo bewitch U3 in punishiDcnt 
of that which we want to do to them, casting ihcm out of 



the 



srld. 



The Licentiate laughed at the Housckceper's simpUcíty> 
and hade the Barber hand hím those boolcs, onc by one, to 

' Ccmola appean lo hive wñltcn the Snl pitt of Üii> itorj wjthoat mMlt 
■tlcntion lo Che diviiioni into chipien, Thi> opcnúiE KnlcDci bqfiat riai[ly 
with ihe pntanil prononn ti cual, ot whích ibc ■ntcteilcnt il Oon Qolute, llu 
l»t wordi of the prrcEiIiag ehj|iter. 

' lai piuagr hereirur (Pan I. ch. iiiv.). Doo Qujioieuy» thu lichidl 
Ihao ihree hDDdtcd booici al home. But th» muit be Uken la íncloib 
Uhntj, The huoilred large volamei — tiurfu d, Strtí — weK ibi 
ranuncet of ch¡vtlr]>, which wece ill piioted in folio, 

* Hyuop wu of olit the pUnt of purífiCJlion, of «hích the htép: i 
once «llíd GrMi* Da. Il wai mei in eioiciráj. 



tf. 6 



Don Ouixote 



E what they treated of, since he might be able to find some 
hich did not deserve thc discipline of the fire. 

—No, cried the Niece ; tliere's no nced to pardon any of 
them, for they have been all cvil-doers,^ Better fling them 
out of the Windows into the court, and malee a heap orthem, 
and sct them on fire, or, if not, take ihera out into the yard, 
and let the bonfire be made there and the smoke will not be 
a nuisance. — The Housekeeper said the same, so eager werc 
the two for the slaughter of ihose innocenis ; but the Priest 
wou]d not have it so, without ñrst reading the titles at least. 

And thc first whlch Master Nicholas put into his hands 
was, Thí Four Bsaii af Amadh rfGaul. This, said the Priest, 
is curious, for, as I have heard say, this book was the lírst of 
chivalrics printed in Spain, from which all the others have 
talcen iheir origin and groundwork,- and therefore I atn of 
opinión that, as the heresiarch of a sect so pernicious, we 
ought lo condemn him to the fire without any mercy, 

— Not so, Sir, said the Barber, for I have heard also that 
*tis the best of all the books whích have been composed tn 
tbat kind \ therefore, as being unique in his art, he ought lo 
be pardoned. 

— TTiat ¡s truc," cricd the Priest, and for that reason let 

' Tbcn 11 itill lUnding i ruin on Uie ouiilurtí of the town of Aiggmuilta, 
bf thr lowDtmca nllca Id Cau áe Dm ¡¡¿¡reri, wkh thc rcnuii» of i Iurge 
tircoUr window luakiog oul ialo iht íwra/ or oultt ysid, v/Licb mighl well bivc 
•crved fot the tea» of Ihii cpítode. Cervintci doubtle» faid [hit hoiue ín hü 
qic wboi he deicribeit the Knight'i dwtlliDg, 

* CctwtitM ■• tiken lo laik by Clemeoein for uyÍDg that thii wu the fint 



^k of chinJilcí p 
1 te of the 1 



nlcd ii 
ite liio, 



I, m ibe CitaliD or Valencian diilcct (iLey were o 
ríght if he Rieanc, u be piobibly d 
nltic* In Spaniíh. The CMlilían veraíon of Tiram wi 
I IJII. ti Biuit be nid, mnnover, lh>t !>«» owa ni 
■«f 1 ktad toUtly ilUfcnol, chincteríilíc of a life u Jiiün 
\ ihe iAmAi book) ■■ Cinile wm from Vikncti ia the lil 
• From Ihi", u from nnnwroui olher indíalioni in D 
■I ihu Ccnuit», while rídiioling the etiggentioni taá 



Don Ouixote 



hU life be granted him for the present. Let us sec chat 
other who lies next him. 

— It is, quoth the Barber, The Exphili af Esplandian^ thc 
lawtiit son oí Amadis of Gaul. 

— In sooth, then, said the Priest, the merit of the fether 
shall not avail the son, Takc hinii housekeeper ; open that 
window and throw him out into the yard for thc foundation 
of the bonfire which has to be made. 

The hoüsekceper obeyed him wíth great alacrit)', and thc 
good Esplandian went flying into the back yard, thcrc to 
await in all patience the threutcned flames. 

^Let US get on, quoth thc Priest. 

— This who comes here, said the Barber, is Amad'ti vf 
Greeee^ — yea, and all on this side, as I think, are of the »me 
lineage as Amadh? 

— Then let them all go to the yard, cried the Priest ; 
for rather than nol burn the Queen Pintíquiniestra and the 
shepherd Darincl,' and their eclogues and thc be-dcvillcd 

boolu or diivalda, bád ( teniltr fwlíng fot tliit Idnd of littntutE, ind did Iiy no 
meaui tuk to drAtroy che legitünite inñuence of cbivAiríc rotnancíA. 

' Las Sa^iu dt Eiflanáian, ihe Fifcfa Book of Anudií of Giul, urríttea bjr thc 
compier of thc four fint, who ii now iicemincd Id be Gird OtdaBei de 
MontalVD. EipUniIian wu the Mm of AmxÜt hj Otúne. Sa-gai ii ■ wotd 
comprniadnl BÍ(pya=fiua, áaki, — eiploit), to keep up the fictioo of the Gnelí 
origioal. Thc bibliognpfay of tbe Romanta nfChivalij quotcd la tbia ehsptet, 
■nd in Dlhm oí D<m ^tai, ii given ai lirge io Appendi» A. 

■ jlmaJa át Crina, tbe Nislh Book of the Anuda •eria, by Fdiciuia dr 
Silví, 

■ TIi«F would le FhriíanAa, the Siith Book ; Linurn át Grata j Prrim di 
GauJa, Iht Seveoth Soolc i LiaaruJí Graia, by ¡laa Dia, iht Eightb Book, m 
which Ihe úM Amtdií ditj and U bnríed ; Firii¡¡j£N¡piiii,byFclicanoAcSiln, 
the TcnÜi Bnob ; ind « eoDtiniutíon of ihe torne bj ihe lamc aulhor, forming 
the Ekvfnth Book ¡ Sikv dr ¡a &lvt, thc Twtlfth Book ¡ £ifirtimw¡Ji át Criaa 
(no longír eiliiic in S|aniih), the ThútMDth Book. Tfa(R Í« (1m meotion oía 
Faurlccnth Buok, Btralva, eitant oaly in Portugune, wilh whum the IwiK &oC«I 
Anudíi ai.li. Sec ihe Gnuilogy of Amidií in Apfcn<IÍ> C. 

* ThcK >n chanelen íd ^maiis tf Groa. riaiH)BÍoÍatn, 
Sobndiía, «al the wife of Perion, nn of G*laar, and neptacw of 

8o 



Don Ouixote 



i perplexed díscourses of their author, 1 would burn with 
tJiem the fáthcr who bcgai me if he went in the shapc of 
a Knight Errant. 

— Of that mind am I, said the Barben 

—And so am I, addcd the Niece. 

— Since it h thus, quoth tlie Housekeeper ; come, lo the 
ywd with thcm f 

They handed them to her, and being many, she, lo save 
the stairs, threw them below out of the window. 

— What huge ihing ís that there ? asked the Priest. 

— This, rcplied the Barber, is Don Olivante Je Laura. 

— The author of that, said the Priest, is the same with 
him who wrote the Carden of Flmüers^ and, ¡n truth, I 
cannot determine which of the two books Ís the more 
tnithfiíl, or rather the less mcndacious : all I can say is that 
tie shall to the yard for a biockhead and a blusterer. 

^He who follows is Florlimarte a/ Hyrcania^ said the 
Barber. 

— Is Sir Florismarte there f asked the Priest ; i' failh, 
llien, he must to a quick ending in the yard, in spite of his 
■tiange birth and fantastic adventures, for the hardness and 
dryness of his style deserve naughi elsc : to the yard with 
him, aiid that other one, Mistress Housekeeper. 

0«al. Dvfnel wit i •bcphcrij inii luaoui wrotler, enainourDl of Silvia, 
dnchier oí tb' Piincaí Onoloria. 

> Bl Jarda dk Flmx, "Tht Gardm of Fla'ai." wrilttn by Antonio de 
Torfimouli, wn ■ b»k of vulgar itoris, ptodigio, wondeiful mytht and 
npcntitlotu, whicl) wnt traniUted inta maQy Uogiuge*. Amoag the iletia 
b Míe of la Irübvaman, wfao givr birth to 378 childm ¡ inotliu, who pro- 
dpctd la dephant i otlien who btought forth froga ind toadi, "■ cooiDioa 
tUn^ ihey uy, in Nipla." It trriti nlio of ncn with tails ¡ of Ihf hrrb wxlh 
which Kkg Salomón heiled Üioh poucued of the dtvil ¡ of St, Chriitopher'i 
moEUtcr toolh it Coria ) of wÍKhu. appirilioai. d^viU, mcnii and uunti. 

• FrlirmfH, ot fiwijnwrw, iU Hjrcaia. Thii wai Üie iiook whkh Dr. 



(e ihroBgh while it Dr, Ptnft píiionage-houii 



h ftobiblf no mortal m 






n the country — ■ íeal 



Don Ouixote 



— With al] my heart, dear Sir, responded shc, and, » 
much chccrfulness, did what shc was bidden, 

— This onc, said tbc Barbcr, is the Knight Plaiir.' 

— An oíd book is that, cried ihe Priest ¡ nor do I find 
in it aught which deserx'es mercy -, let him keep company 
with the othere without anocher word. — Which was done 
accordingt)'. Another book was opened, and they found 
the tille to be Thí Knight e/thf Cross.^ 

—Fot a title so holy as this book has, its ignorance 
might be pardoned, but they iire wont to say, too, Bthiná 
ihe Crois the Dtvil ítands : * let him go the fire. 

Taking up another book the Barbcr exclaimed : — ^Tbis 
is The Aflrrer af ChivalrUt* 

— His worship I know, quoth the Pricst : hcrc you 
have the lord Rtaaldo of Montalvan, with his friends and 
cotnpaiiions, thicvcs greater (han Cacus ; and the Ttutlve 
Pffrs, with the veracious historian Turpin ¡' and, ín sooih, 

> El CiiW/in FJatÍr—o( Ihc fiiDily of tíic Pitmcrisi, one of ihc •Inpidol 
ül ihc Kña. 

■ El Cahalhrt Ji ii Crr» — » titte borne lijr Ltpolemo, ton of the Bmperot 

' Trm U cma laá el DiaUc — a provcrb, levtnl úmtt ciKd ín D« ^uihii, 

* El E¡f¡ja áí CahaUcrín, in íaai puU, the |rut ilonhoue ind nunerj of 
Carlovingian rnimncc — iht fourcí whencc, >i inJialed in Ihe leit, tiic poet» 
and ronuntcn dttw their legendi {eipinded from Turpín'i Chronícli) of Orlando 
tai hit companioni. 

* Turpin, or TÍIpin, wu Aichtñihop of Rheínu atout the yar 770, and 1 
pronuQcnt figure in the CLniH ¿t RoUnd and the Frcnch £tiití of Charlonacne. 
H!> name wu ued, loioe Ihr« oí four «nturiei iftfm'iirdi, ta gívc criiUt ta 
the Litin Chroaicle, wbíib ii drvoUd to Ibc Fiploiu of the Frankith Empcror 
ind hit Poladini. Of thi> boolc ° tuon ai Barccluns, towardt the end of (he 
elevínlh centniy, ii tuppoied to be the real authoi ¡ chough lome have attiibuted 
!l to Pope Caliituí II„ who it uid to have wrílten il vtíth the pioai putpoie oí 
inciting Chritlendoni to Ihe Ciuude. The oame of Turpin wai frum th( 
carlieil dayí i by-ivord amnng the letlered laity, and cven tmong the poeta, "ho 
■■tpun their web from hia yito." Ceivanln' ¡rocy io t^ard lo il -nrJaim 
tímrmdír, wíi antíciptcd by Boíaido, Pnlci, and Ariono, who all look ÜWÍt 
BUteriala fioiu Turpin. 

Turpin the mal non mente in ilcun loco. 

— Boiardo, bk. nív. R. ;], 
82 



Don Ouixote 



r am for condemning iheni to nothing more than perpetusl 
banishmeiu, ¡f only because they have a share in the invention 
of thc famous Mateo Boiardo, whcncc also the Christian 
poet Ludovico Aríosio spun his web. Him, tí 1 ñnd herc, 
and he speaks any other language than his own, I shall pay 
RO rcspcct to him ; bitt, if he speaks his own tongue, I will 
place him on my head.^ 



—I have him 
not undersiand him 

— Nay, it were 
tponded the Priest 
Captain had he noi 



Italia 



, observed the Barber, but I do 



lot well that you understood him, re- 
and we should have forgiven the good 
brought him lo Spain^and made him 
Castilian, for he has robbed him of much of his native 
worth, and thís is what all shall do who turn books of verse 
iato another tongue, fur, in spite of all the care they can 
rake and thc skill they may use, they wili never reach thc 
leve] of thc first begetting. In fine, I say, let this book, and 
all that shali be found which treat of these affairs of France,* 







Id pUcn [he Konn upan hii Imd ii 



inilitat, heií cburvci : 
did dM rabib Acioila'i eitravigiDCÍn," < 

ttwaght hiniMlf u well vcmed ia Ccrrintet' bumour >■ lo tnailitc Den ^¡mi. 

¡riMia, nol onlir frum otber paiiaga in Ccrvinici' Hark>,but from ihii, 

Jinii hit not ondentooil, ihil ibc iBÜior oí Dan ^uimu bgd i gnat 

tion fot the kindrcil gcniíu or thc Itiliin foct. "ChriMün pMI," ihe 

whidl paitla Cleincncin, Í> probibly iraDjr. The Prictl chinki jt well 

Üw BirlKi ihould not be ible lo reíd luliu, thit hii morili might not 

¿iBoff 6iua Üw looM piuiget fiom wbich unhippily the Or/amlt Furmí 

ti not eicmpc. Thc mt of the ctniun tpplí» lo the Sp*nuh venion of the 

[Wm b)i Don Gnénimo Jimenei Je Uriu, en Angoneie Ecntlemio, fint 

puMíthed ti Ljroiu ín i^í^ ; whích 1> i very poot produclion. 

' Monin) thc rooiiDcn rtliting to the Cailovíntlían heroei. 

83 



Don Ouixote 



be thrown and deposíted in some drv well until it be seen, 
after furthcr deliberation, whai shaJI be done with them — 
exccpling one Bernardo dil Carpie^ who ¡s hereabout, and 
anothcr called RoncesvaUts^ for iheac shall pass from my 
hands inCo those oF the Housckeepcr and from her to thosc 
of the fire, without any remission. 

In al! this the Barbcr concurred, holding it to be good 
and very propcr, for he knew the Príest to be a sound 
Christian and so great a lover of the truth that he vrould 
never tell aught clsc for the world. Opening anothcr boolc 
they found ¡t was Palmrria de Oíiva^ and near ¡t was 
another caüed Palmerin of England^ oii seeing which the 

' Thil pofoi rcfierrcd to ii luppoBcd Co be one by AufutCin Alonio, printed 
«I Toledo ¡o I S*!. of which Pellicer knew oitly one copy. 

* Thi> may refer to > pocm by Franciaco Garrido de Vlllaii, entítleil £/ 
VaJtárt Saces Jt U ialaUa di RuiravaJJii, prmieit it Toledo, i;8} j or to ■ 
continiution of Ariotlo'i Orlmiln Furjai, in Spaniíh, by Nicholit de Ei^ou, 
devoUd 10 Roncantla md the iliiighter of ihc Twelvc Peen, pnbliihed Dt 
ZiniDit, ijs;. 

' The two Pulmermí, Ihougli claued under tlit Mme MClioa of romucei «nd 
conntcted wilh eich other, ate of vcry díRcrent ityle and metil, u Cervintet, *¡th 
lu> Dflul good taate ind jud^ent, here dcnoteit Falmárin dt Olh'o, which i* the 
eirlier boak, i> believed by Clemeoda to date from the dow of the fiftcñllh 
ceotnry, which wanld nuke il aoterior lo almoit all the tomancei eicepting the 
/fnudüi ef Ganl. Palmrrm dt bghlrrra wu tong tuppMCd, oo the HDthoríty of 
the Portugun* Micocl de Faríi y Sduh, to be the work ef the King Joun ü. 



who 



'4SS • 



'49!- 






hu now tiecn Kltkd by the diicovety of the Spaniíb original, of which ihere 
) copy in the Gttnvitle Libnry, whicb w» ;^(eil *t Toledo, in Iwo pirtí, io 
1S47-4S. The iDthor, u <Icctared in 1 dedícitory acioilic, wit Lnia Horlsilo, 
1 pocl of Toledo, who alio wrole tome drannii and tranilaled ih< Mttaiiuftm» 
of Ovid. See a tracl by Don Pawuil de G-yingos Di/ Palmain dt Lt[üiirra 
y d, n¡ vtrdaátra aMur (Madrid, 1861} ¡ alio the ¡ulmiiable Dat^rtt Pnlkaar, 
by the lame Inined autboríl)' and my eicellent friend, ifliiied to híi ÍJtnt 
¿I CabaUerím ta the Bitlieura di Auierii Eifiaüala, 1857. Soulhey Dude a 
•piríted tranilalion, or ralher abridgmeoí, of the Pa/iwh, wlilth hari been 
tranalited in tull by Anthony Munday ín 1S*7. Ticknor príiaei ibe romance 
highlf for ila titeraty raerit, though placing II below Amadií ia ilmplidty and 
oatanlnen. To Engliibraen ihia "Palm of Englond" hu a ccmín apeciji 
iniereit, a> ít cUima (o be founded on anctcnl Engt'iah chronldca. The hcru 
himRlf i> in Englitb princc, »n of Don Duardc, or Edward, King of EngUnd. 

84 



taAr. 6 



Don Ouixote 



Pricst exclaimed ; — That Olive, let it be made into chips 
forthwich and burnt, so that even ¡ts ashes may not be 
exiani. But for that Palm of England, let it be kept and 
prcserved as a thing unique, and a casket be made for it 
such as Alexander found among the spoiís of Darius, which 
he (ledicated lo the kceping of the works of the poct Homer. 
This book, gossip, deserves respect for two things : one, 
bccause ¡n itsclf it is very good ; and the other, because it 
is rcputed to have been composcd by a ckver King of 
Portugal. AIl the adventures in the castle of Miraguarda 
are capital, and very artfuUy contrivcd ; the speeches polished 
and perspicuous, for they observe and keep up the characier 
of the speaker with much propñety and discernment. I say, 
rtbcn, saving your good judgment, Masicr Nicholas, let this 
P tnd Amadis ef Gaul be exempt from the firc, and let all the 
rest perísh without fiírther trial or enquiry. 

— No, gossip, replicd the Barber, fbr this I have berc is 
the renowncd Don Be/ianii.^ 

— Nay, even he, said the Priest, with his second, third, 
and fburth pan hath necd of a little rhubarb to purgc his 
rcdundant choler, and it is necessary to strip them of all that 
about the Castle of Fame,* and oiher impertinences of greater 
gravity ; on which account ihere is adjudged them a bcyond- 
sca tcrm,' and as they show amendment so shall mercy or 
justice be accorded them. Meanwhile, gossip, keep thcm in 
your bouse, but let not any one read them. 

' /W Biíúmii i¡i Grcríj, wrillen \¡y Gtroaime Fcmandci, i» íaiil lo have 

te rcadÍDg of tbe Empcror Chatlu V, 

* The CiWle of Fame wi> ■ ilFVici invented it ■ Inunument held ic London 

^ Út King of Eogluid. It wi> Ijrgc cnoiígh lo conuia Icn thounnd knighu 

t, mi wit dnwn hy iony elcphinu of an íocKdibk bígncii. upon wbetli 

tf iilvcr. Out of il tbcte ÍMued nine cirilUn ia blue nnnaur [one of wbom 

¡1 ilocríbctl » Aithiit King oT Btítiín], on urboie ihicMi ir» pintcd Fiimt, to 



Don Ouixote 



— That I wiil do with pleasure, responded tbe Barber ; 
and ihe Pricst, not beíng inclined to tire himself any more 
by reading books of chivalrtcs, hade the Housekccpcr calce all 
the big oncs and throw ihem out ¡nto thc yard. He 
spoke to one who was neither deaí ñor duU, but who had a 
greatcr mind for thc burning of tbem than for the spioníng 
of the largcsl snd finest web that could be ; so, sdzing 
about cight at once, shc tossed them from thc wñndow. Shc 
took so many of them togethcr that one feil out of che hcap 
at the Barber's f«t j who, wishing to sec what it wa», found 
it to be called Hiílory ef the Famms Knight Tirante the 

— Bless me, críed thc Priest in a loud voice, and is 
Tirante the fVIñtt herc ? Give it to me, gossip, for I reckon 
that I have found herein a treasure of delight and a mine 
of entcrtainmcnt. Here you have Don Quiricleison of 
Montalvan, the valiant cavalier, and his brother Thomas of 
Montalvan, and the Knight Fonscca, wiih the fight which 
the vaham Tirante had with thc bíg mastiff, and the wítty 
conceits of thc damsel PÍacer-dc-mi-vÍda,* and thc amouts 
and tricks of the widow Reposada, and my hdy the Empress 
in love with Hippohto, her squire. I tcll you truih, good 
master gossip, that this for its style is the best book in the 
world. Here the Knights eat and sleep and dic in their beds, 
and make their wílls before dying, with other things that are 
wanting in alt other books of this sort, For all thís, I say 
that he who wrote ít ¡s wcll dcserving j for he did not 
follles purposely which should scnd him to the 



' Titanli 


ti BU«^ or 


M in Ihe Calilla on 


ginjl. Hran h Büf.-k 


■•one of 


the moit curioui of ill th 


tonuncoofthivílry 


MÍIi.ODíofÜ.(mi«l 


ontanil. 


tt> iMhof « 




Chi«lr,.m 


AppmJix A 


f ihi» wlume. 






* ^>fl^/«i»<t— " Lonl- 


h«ve-mercf-npon-ni " 


Pkcir-if-mi-^ii-' 


Pla>w«. 


of-my-Ufe," 


u nima Inr 


kaísht maA ■ Ixly 




of humour. 


c»«tHbt.tmg 


to g>» Ihr book it< 


linnulaf lone of Utte 


.a.]F«D. 






86 







Don Ouixote 



gallcys fbr the ti 



a of his üfe.^ Take it home and read I 



kin< 
oth< 



s truc, 

it what shall we 



tcrm o 
and you will see that what I have saíd oF it 

—So it shall be, answered the Barber ; 
do with these little books that remain ? 

— These, said the Pricst, should be not of chivalry, but of 

:tiy. Opening one he found ¡i was the D'iana^ of Jorge 
de Montemayor, and thinkíng ail the rest to be of the same 
kind, — ^Thcse, said he, do not deserve to be burnt like the 
others, for they do not, ñor will they do, the mischief which 
ifhose of chivalrics have done ; for they are books of enter- 

iment, without danger to anybody. 

O, eir, cried the Niece, you may wellorder them tobe 
'"tturnt like the others, for I should not wonder if my iincle, 
when cured of his chivalric inftrinity, werc to longto becomc 
a shepherd on reading these books, and wander about among 
the woods and meadows, singing and piping, and, what is 



celara tLÚ to be " the ohiCDreit paiiigc m Dft¡ S^ixuu " ¡ for 
which lUurd ind íacompKheniibte fligbt of dulacn he ii ihiü-ply reprehended 
by Jbvi Caldo-on in hii Ctraanus yináiccdii. I tce na dilhculty whatever. 
■ado tbc goid*Dce orCaldcraa, íd thi patiige when Iniulatrd liteiiUy ¡ ihongh 
vnry ttmibtoi before me, íbcIdiIÍoe the two litt, hu oiuddled the teiuc, and 
ou^ Ccmoteg ny precÍKlf the oppolUe to whil he intcnded. Cervanta a a 

ind whrfi ¡neott. BuC bne hii maniag ii pUin motigh, '\f, in ihe claute ;k 
t i¡ fxt ü nmfuB, we lake mmciii for a rerb intiaaiitive. Ccrvantea 
n II teing, on ihe whole, well doerving, though b>d the nuthor 
aignedly the folüa pointcd out, he ihouLd have bem leat to the 





opinión that it shouM not be burnt, bu 
expungcd 3s relates lo tbe witch Felicia ai 
water, wilh most of thc longcr poems, and 
in God's ñame ihe proEC and thc honour of 
ich boolcs.' 
— This which comes next, said the Barlx 
called the Sfcmd, oí the Sabmantine ; 
one bearing the same ñame, whose author is 

— Nay, let her of the Salamantinc join atl 
company of those condcmned tu the yard ¡ I 
Gil Polo be presen-ed as if it wcre by ApollJ 
on, good neighbour, and leí us dcspaich, for tt | 

— This work 13, said the Barber, o)>ening 
Ten Bootí of Fortune of Love, by Antonio de % 
Sardinia. 

— By thc orders I have reccived, cried tU 
Apollo was Apollo, the Muses Muses, and the¡ 
humorous and fantastical a book as ihal has nol 
and one which in its way is the best and most) 
those of this kínd that cvcr have üeen the wol 
lie who has not read it may reckon ihai he { 



* Thc ñnt, ÚM i*, in Spain. Jitobo Sanniuro, úie Ni 
idjjl, bu thc hoDoni of bcíat the fint I ' ' ' 
■ni, in hi> jIrttJi*, — 



u-.e Don Ouixote 



snythíng deÜghtful, Give it to me here, gossip, for I prize 
more thís ñná tban if they had givcn me a cassoclc of 
Florcnce serge.' 

He lai<J it aside with very great dclight, and the Barber 
proceeded, saying : 

— Thcse which follow are The Shr^hird of Iberia^ 
y/ymphs af HtnaríSj and Unveiling ofjeahusy? 

— Then thcre is no more to do, said the Pricst, ihan lo 
tleüver them over to the secular arm of the Houselceeper, 
and let me not be asked why, for that would be never to end. 

— ^This who comes here is The Shephtrd of Filtda? 

— No shepherd Í9 he, quoth the Priest, but a vcry 
knowing courtier : let him be kept for a precious jewel. 

— This big one here is entitlcd, said the Barber, Treasury 
of Divers Poetns.* 

— Had they been not so many, remarked the Priest, they 
woutd have been more esteemed. This book needs to be 

' T)k irony here ii tclciably pilpaMe, yel ít hig [ikea in mote than one 

SpmBih Uoguige (anthai o[ i Spiaúh tni Engliih Oi(IÍonary) who rraiilcd ia 
LMMtoo duiiag Ihc fint lulf of the ejghtcentb century. Poor pEdro Pineda, 
laliiag whit ihc Priat layí lar eaninc, prinlcd i lumptuDui editina of Lofriiu'i 
^trtliiu dt Amw in 174.0, dectiríng il lo be i production woithy of being priinl 
EtodacH, clcguDce, ind acuteacti/^ cnd that für tJicfle meriti Íl faid 
ncnded by *^tí agaiU dt U JíKgi/a Eijmda Jptígud de CervantCI 
The oríginil wii publiibed in 1 ;7]. Lofraia icen» lo hive been 
k bvtt tá the poeta of the age, lod wai ridiculed again ia tem» of ciccplionil 

' X by Ccrvaol» in hú f^y^li a Potasas, eh. iii. 
I* £IFailerdtIiitU,vrríatn by Bernardo de la Vegi,j>ad publúhcd al Seville, 
— Nhi/ai it Htturn, by Benuido Goniala de Bobadilla, Alcalá. 15S7, 
' 10 ia the fijJgt » Píriuaat, ch. üi. Diirngíña di Zrhi, by Bartolotní 
le Eadio, a ledioua paitoral ia proK and vene. 
i Bl Pauw 4t Filidt. «títtHi by Lui> Gilveí de Montalvo, ■ genilenian ot 
t Coart, ind pnhtiiheJ it Midiid in 15S1. Moatalvo wii one of Ccfvantea' 
la, ptaiKd irf Lope de Vega ia hit Laurti di jifalt. 
t 7«n dt vari*' fHimi, by Pedro de Padilla, prínitd al MaiíHd in i;75. 
I wroli tlMü £/ yjrdñ g-fh-iau!, which bean in eulogitlie Mjmel iy 
La, and li itoubllai oac of the moic " hcroical and lofly pouní " hete 



Don Ouixote ««r i 

weedcd ani) clearcd of certain írregularítics which it contzios 
in the midst of it9 great ihings: talce care of ít, fbr (he 
author ís a friend of mine, and out of respect for othcr more 
heroical and clevated worlcs which he has wrítten. 

— This, coniiniied the Barber, ts a book of songs by 
López Maldonado,' 

^The author of that book also, replied the Priest, Í3 my 
great friend, and his poems, by thosc who hcar them (rom 
his own mouth, are much admired, and so sweet is his voice 
that he enchants whcn he chants them. He is over long in 
his euiogies ; though what is good was never too much. 
Kcep him with the choscn ones, Bm what is that boolc 
which lies next him ? 

— The Galatra of Miguel de Cervantes,^ said the Barber. 

— That Cervantes has for many ycars been a greal friend 
of mine, and I Itnow him to be more versed in sorrows than 
in song. His book contains a little of good invendon : ii 
proposes something but concludes nothing, We must waíi 
for the sccond part he promises ; perhaps with amendmem 
he wilt achieve that full grace now denied him, Meanwbile, 
untíl this be dccided^ keep him a rcclusc in your lodging, 
good neighbour. 

' El dudmuní di Li^a Aíjldctaác, publiihed at MaiJriil. 15K6, 1I10 wHh 
■orne friendly \tna ot introdoctíon by Cervinta. 

' tt ii ímpouibte aot (o admire the minglcd taoiaxy, iiañtií, and JDdgmetit 
with which Cernatet here ipeilu oí hit ows yoothfbl proínction. Tbe arcoad 
part of the Gatatta hcre ipojcpn of, ind agaio promiud ía the dídícatioo of 
Frri¡!¡¡ atd Sii'imunJj 10 the Conde de Lemoa, wiittBi fbur diyt krfare iht 
■uthoc'i dcaCh, Dever appeatcd. Thi ÍD(«tace dfswo by ■ rcccnt Englhli 
truulator ítam thii pasugc that " uatil Da ^i»w maile the ■othor'* nJUM 
Icnown, the Galaica had nmaineii uonoticeii," ia withoul wamnt. Then ¡t 
■mplc evidente eíted by NivjuTMe in hia Lifi cfCirvmm, p. Í79, «e-, tO ilMMr 
thil tbe Gtltiu, thoDgh, like raoat putonla, iE raiued papuliríly, wn not 
unaoticed by tlic wrilet* 0Í bía peiiod. GiItu de Montilvo, Pedro 1I1 Padilla. 
aad even Lope de Vega híniHlf, plaííd Cetvintca amoog " (he grtrt po«» OÍ 
the age," — a title he coniil only haví eanied hj ha Galtua, befare Che appcsnnW 
of Con Sl¡inu. tity, Lope « Vega aa ba aotlnd ÜM Gthtm a 10 
(ai he imitated evetythine that Cenantn wroU) ín híi A^csJm, 

90 



u>. 6 



Don Quixote 



— Wiih plcasure, answered ihe Barber. And here carne 
ihree together : The AraMana oí Don Alonzo de Erf illa j 
Tht Auftriaiia of Juan Rufo, magistrace of Cordova i and 
77« Manítrrat of Christóbal de Virués,^ poet of Valencia. 

— ^All these thrce books, said the Príest, are the best 
which have been writtcn in the heroic verse ¡n the Casrilian 
tongue, and may compare with the most famous of Italy. 
Let them be preserved as the richest treasures of poetry ihat 
Spain possesses. 

The Priest was too tired lo look at any more books, and 
wishcd all the rest to be burnt, contents unknown ; but the 
Barber had already one opened, which was called Tht Teart 
of Angtlica? 

—\ would have shed them, saitJ the Príest on hcaríng 
the title, if I had ordercd such a book to be burnt ¡ for its 
author was one of the most ^rnous poets, not only ¡n Spaín 
bul in the whole world, and was most happy in the 
transtalion of some of the fables of Ovid.* 

< TheiE tllrce m imaog the miitcrpieca oí Spaniifa heroic poclry. Er(iUa 
vu a (ríoiit of CcrviDtii, and diftin^iihei), like masy of that age, ai j lolilier 
u welJ at a poct. The Anoriaiíi oí Jnin^Rafo hna for JU hero Don Jnoa of 
Aiuliü, mil delta cidí hit cimpaiga igainit tht Maiiicoe* of Granada, conclud- 
ing wilii th« «ictotr of Lepante). The Malumi of Criitóbal de Viruú coma 
□earer in fofm aad ■tmcCure to the cpic ihan any other pDcm in the laogaage, 
ThcM ihfH [dMi wcre alio praiicd by Cerviatci ín bi) Cmre Jt CtUrft, which 
d put of hia Gi/iua. 
■ Lal Ugrlmil Ji jíngiUta, the true títle o! which i> Pr¡mn-A Parte ,ii It 
■ pocm by Luii Barahona de Soto, whora Ccfvanics had praiied 
1 Ijtlle ulravigaBUy, it w»i hia wont lo do whm ípcaklng of the worlu 
it biettií, ia the fp)^ le Pantajou, cb. Üí. 
' Thit ¿mol» ditpter. lo •Idlfully íntreduced pimÍKly in the very place for 
it, w far aa the aetion of the itory ia coDcemed, and a perirct «ompte of the 
aiiihor'i humour, doe» not loein to have receivtd due attenlían fct iti undn- 
«urttnt dT tiillety at ihe Hnly Office and ilt miaíiten. There <an be no doubt, 
from the phrue* and the farma emplayed, tbil the buroing of the booka waa 
mrint to be a fauil«iiie oa the proaett of the Inquiíition, onder the muk of a 
critícd tcnliajr. Na wrllcr of (he age ceitainly wsit lo neir to langhing a' 



K of Ihb ehapIcT sr of othen nunifally of Ihc ■ 



le bent in Dm ^nlt. 



tihen 



CHAPTER VII 

Ó/tht Secan J Sally gfeur gotd Knight Den ^inlt^ 
Lü Mancha 



The' 



: thus employed when Don Qui 



: bcgan 1 



jJuixote 
cali out al thc top of hÍ3 voícc, exclaiming :^ThÍs way, this 
way, valorous Knights ! Hcre are ye needed to show the 
mtght of your valorous arma ! for the Courtiers are getting 
thc best of the lourney ! 

Calied away by thís noise and ckmour, they did not 
procecd any further with thc inquUition on the rcmainder 
of the ixioks, and so, it is believed, there went to the (iré, 
imscen and unjudged, the CaraUa and ihe Lian of SpaiM, 
with thc feats of the Emperor, composed by Don Luis de 
Avila,' which, doubtless, would have been among tho»e 
which remained, and pcrhaps if thc Priest had seen thcm 
they would not have sufFered so rigorous a sentence. When 
ihcy had come to Don Quixote he was riscn from his bed 
and was repeating his outcries and ravíngs, laying about with 
his sword all over ihe room, with slashcs and baclc-strokcs, 
and as widc awake as if he had never been asiccp. They 

' Lj Carolta, by GErünima Sfni|vrtt pubüih^d it Valoicia, 156a, á 4 pocaí 
upan thc priDcipal eveat> lii ItiF lift of thc Empcinr Challa V,. Id thiiljr cantea, 
of tiitle mnil. £/ Lrní lU Etf^A,. bj Pcitro de I* V«Ílli CKirltmo* (&■!*• 
minu, 15S6), ii ■ pocm devotnl to tbe cDmiaeinuiitiía of tt>i {(lurii* of llw 
ctty of Lun. I1 !• Dot <«nun whal Íi ihe thiid book lo which Ccrranla httt 
■lludu. Don Luú de Avila «role no pocm on the dccdt of iht Empoi», bul a 
proM hiilory t>í tbe cimpdgn agiloit thc Luchcruu. 

92 



Don Ouixote 



grappled with him, and by forcé tooIc him baclc to his bed ; 
and, aftcr he had rcstcd (¡uietly a little while, he began to 
address the Pricst, sayíng : 

— 5ure, my Lord Archbishop Xurpin, it is a great detault 
in US, who cali outsclves Xweive Pecrs, to Ict the crown of 
ihis tourney be carried ofF without more ado by the 
Courticr-Knights,— we, the Adventurers, having won the 
prize ¡n ihe three preceding days.' 

— í pray you be still, dear comrade, cried the Priest, for 
God niay yct be pleascd to change the luck, and that whtch 
is lost to-day may be redeemed to-uiorrow. For the prcsent 
íttcnd to your hcalth, for mcthinks you shoiild be over- 
icd, if not sorcly wounded, 

■Wounded ! no, rephed Don Quixote, but bruised and 
ided, — there is no doubt of that, for that basiard of a 
Loland has battered me with the trunlc of an oak, and all 
out of envy, síncc he saw that I alone was his rival ín 
prowess.* But never cali me Rinaldo of Montalvan if, on 
rísing frotn thís bcd, 1 do not pay him for it in spite of his 
enchanierics. For the prescnt, Ict them bring me somc 
lóod, for I believc this would most suit my case, and let the 
avcnging me stand to my chargc. 

They complied with his requcst, and having given him 
to eat, he fell asleep again, leaving them wondering at his 
madncss. That same night the Housekceper set fíre to and 
bumt all the books that were in the yard and throughout 
the housc, and ȟmc must have gone to the flamcs which 

■ The couitier-knigiiti, of dcfindert, lod Ihi «Jvcnturet-knighli, or 
(haílffigcti, figure in ihe Uuniey oC Pcnepolii, ducríbíd in Bríiami, i> wcll ii 
ia Mnn! olhcr of the roiiun(«, The Arthbiahop Turpin, of (hí Cirlottngian 
n tai Ulliili, WH o donghty wirrior ■■ well ai pMl»te, «nd figuitt Urgily 
B Ike toma chincleí in ifac Cianma di Rolmd. 

I of ÜM iwe PaUdina, Roluid ind Rinildo, rorm i fimuríte 
noftbc oíd tulbiU, aptcSilly in the fine oíd tnmaace of Conde Dirloi. 
la 1^ QriaiHh Itmamíian ihtj tn reprnentcil ■> fighting in ibe prennce of 
Anidici, ttuí 1 paaitgf of (Rfnr wordi. 

93 



Don Ouixote 



mcríted prescrvatíort among tbe cierna! Krchi^xs, but dcttinjr 
and the Laziness of thc inquisitor did noi allow it ; and tbus 
was fuliillcd in thcm thc saying, üic saini somctimcs pays fot 
f thc sinncr.' 

One of the remedies which thc Priest and thc Barbcr 
then used for their Iriend's nulady was to wall up and cióse 
the room wherc the books had been, so that when he rose 
he should not find thcm, and, perhaps, the cause bcing 
removed, the eíTect would cease ; and they mighl say that 
enchanters had carried tbem otF, room and all ; and so h 
was done with great promptitude, 

Two days afierwards Don Quixote tose from his bcd j 
■jud thc first thing he did n-as to go and look for hís books, 
lind whcii he could not ünd thc room in which he had Icft 
thcm, he wem scarching for it hither and thithcr. He 
carne up to whcre the door used lo be, and felt tbr it wiifa 
his hands, and looked and looked again all around, without 
speaking a word. After some whíle he asked the House- 
keepcr whereabouts wus his book-closel. Thc Housekcepcr, 
who was wcU ¡nstnicted in what she had to answer, aaid : 

— What room, or what anything does your worship 
seek ^ Therc is ncither room ñor books in this house now, 
for the Devil himself has carried it atl away. 

— It was not the Devil, said thc Niecc, but an enchantcr 
who came upon a doud one night, after you went away 
from here, and, alighting írom a scrpent on which he was 
riding, he entered the chamberj and I don't know what he 
did inside, for after a little time he wcnr flying out through 
the roof, and left the house full of smokc ; '^ and when we 
thought of looking to see what be had done, we found 
neither books ñor room. But we rcmcmber very well, 

' Ptgan ¿ Itu tura jiitoi ftr fttaJora — ■ proverb, tinind ín ihc eatlMtion of 
tht Mír^uíi di Sintillmi. 

' Thii ptDv» that thc Niecc w» > milir al romiBcc* si wrll ■■ hct kiuIc. 
In jtmadu mi) Btliarii Úan are nugidini wbo behive Uki thii> 



Don Ouixote 



Hned 



-myseiranJ the Houseiteepcr, ihat ai thc time of going away 
ihat bad oíd man said in a loud voJce that, for the secret 
cnmity he had tbr thc owner of those books and that room, 
he had done him the ¡11 turn which should by-and-by be 
scen. He said, too, that he was calltd the sage Munaion. 
Frcsion,' he would say, quoth Don Quíxote. 
I can't say, struck in the Housekeeper, whcthcr he 
bimself Freston or Fríton. I only know that his 

le ended ín ton. 
It is so, said Don Quixote. He is a learned eiichanter, 
A great encmy of mine, who has a grudge against me, for he 
knows through his arts and his learning that I am to come, 
in proccss of time, lo fighi in single combat a Kiiighl whom 
he ñvours, and lo vanquish that Knight without his being 
ablc to prevent it ; and thcrefore he tries to do me every ül 
turn he can. Bul I tell him that he cannot oppose or aven 
what Heavcn has decreed. 

— Who doubis of that ? cricd the Niece. Bui who has 
mixed you up, dear Uncle, in those quarrels ? Would it 
not be beiter to stop pcacefully at homc, and not go through 
the wortd seeking for bctter bread tban is made of wbeat,^ ^ 
ncvcr considering that many go for wool and come back 
shom ? * 

— O Niecc of mine, responded Don Quixote, how 
greatly art thou out in thy reckoning ! Ere they shear me 
I will piuck and sirip the beards of all who Uiink to toucb 
me in thc point of a single hair I 

Thc iwo would not make furthcr rcply, for they pcrccived 
his atiger was being inflamed. 

It so befell ihat be stayeil fiftcen days at home very 

Fmlon, Of Friilon, it the irchimage ia Biüúmi, wh«e hí figure» Upgcly. 

BnKtr pat A trturigo — ( |iiovctbiil tiyingí in cominon uk to Ihit <Iay. 

trjBt-trffitw ii whail in mmi impaHJtiIe iHjitrlative of eiccllcncí 

bnl IraaWD — the beit in Spiin being Ihat of Stvillf. 

A prontK «muñan lo mioy Imgiuga, «nd vtty oli ia Spiniíh, Icing 

la tfac pxBi of thc Cnn^ Fernin Goniilcí of tbc faortecnlh ccntur}. 

95 



Don Quixote 



quietly without showing any signs of an inclination tt> repeat 
his former vagarícs, duríng which period he held many 
plcasant disputes with hís iwo good gossips, the Priesi iintl 
the Barbcr, upon his declaratjon that the ihing of which the 
worid stood in greatcst need was ICnights Errant, and that 
in himself should be revived Knighi Errantry. The Priest 
would somctimes contradict him, and sometjmes yíeld lo 
hinv, for íf he had not used this artíiice tliere would have 
been no bringing him to rcason. During this períod Don 
Quixote was beaetting with his soticitadons a peasant, a 
neighbour of hís, an honcst fcllow (íf such a ñame CUi be 
applied to one who is poor), but of vcry lilile tali in hi$ 
brain-pan.' In the cnd, he said so much to him, and plicd 
him with so many faW words and promises, that tbe poor 
clown determined to go out with him and serve him as 
iquire. Don Quixote told him, among othcr ihings, that 
he ought to be very wcU disposcd to accompany him, for at 
some time or other an adventure might befell which should, 
in the twinkiing of ^n eye, win him an Isle,* and leave him 
governor thereof. On the faith of these and other such 
promises, Sancho Panza (for so the peasaní was namcd) 
fbrsook his wife and children and took service as squire to 
his neighbour. Don Quixote thcn set about to providc 
himself with moncy, and, by selling one thing and pawning 
another, and making bad bargains in all, he raised a modérate 
sum. He furnished himself also with a bucklcr,* which he 

' Di naij faa al tu la naí/ird — i proveibtil phriH, which Xou* aolhing by 
Ulenl tnniUtlDn. Sucha ■carecí!' ducrva anch ■ cliaricter, but ne doubt ht 
gccw in wixlam with hii anchor u he ¡p^w íd Iotc. 

* hmla — 1 clanicil tai high-Aowo wonl tta iiltiii, ulcd ín ihe roDuncc*. 
whicb Sancho did not dcait]' unilcntind — *t leut, tiU tOKirdi the «id oTths 
«tory— « being ídtBticil wilh ala. I hive trunilited it \r} íilt H tidn| anr 
conei|!Dndmg Englíih iiiCiijuí worri for Í>lin<l. 

t Kijrla — íot vihich Hiitícobutch, withoot iny wimnt, ñadí lemv — 
oUcrviag üiii Don Quiíolc necded s lance more thio i ihkU, bit Uott luvint 
bno hrakcn to fita* bf (he wtvuil a( tht T^lrdan mtrchflitt, » we hiw mo 
hi eb. iv., whcKH noching ■• uid iboul (be t^rgm. But we cnoat lell, *aá it 



Don Ouixote 



borrowed from a friend, and, patching up his brokcn hclmct 
as best he could, he gave his squire Sancho nocice of the day 
and hour on which he designed to set out, so that Sancho 
might supply hímself with all that was needful ; above all, 
he charged his squire to procure wallets,! which the othcr 
protnised to do, saying moreover that as he was not very apt 
at travclling a-foot, he preferrcd to takc his ass along with 
him, which was a very good one. In the matter of the ass 
Don ÍJuixote hesitated a httie, racking his brains to 
remember whether any Knight Errant ever carried a squire 
mountcd on ass-back ; but no case occurred to his mcmory. 
Ncvertheless, he decíded that the ass should be taken, with 
the intention of providing his squire with a more dignifíed 
mount whcn he had a chance, by unhorsing the fir« 
discourteous Knight he encountered. He provided hímself 
also with íhirts and as many other things as he could, 
according to the advíct given him by the innkeeper. 

All this being done and arranged, Sancho Panza, without 
taking leave of his children and wife, and Don Quixote, 

u vara to <ni|UÍ». whf Don QuicoU ruraiiheil híattclf with aaothei ihield. 
Ptrhipi, 11 CI«nim<in taggou, the rilm-ga vnt wora ool by igt. The «¿rii, 
which 1 híM irantlitol " buckicr," w« the lound urgrt of woo'I, «trengthfiicil 
with iron, uttJ by ínfintt]' up ta the líiteenth ccntuiy. Borne by a knighE in 
arinour oo horiebeck, it coaliíbiited to rendcr Don Quualc'i appearancí illll 

be hu madi in hi> hrro'i eiaipment, for beraftcr the knighi'i ihietU Í> callcd 
■omctimc* roJila tmnetiino táarga. 

' Alftrjtii tlte wiUcU, Dt uddlc-baga, wete ■ partían of the univenal aod 
iodiipniMblF ti|ai|nnai( of tnvdtcn in Spain, whcthcr on fool or moualed. 
They art alwap m pain, mide of cortón ind wonted, more or leu gaÜjr 
rmbtoMereil. Ün fbot they are ilnng icm* the ihauiílera. On horv- dt an- 
back Úiff wt barac in (rom of the rider, hangjng down on each aide. — The iolt, 
ce leatbrT boRle to ^1d wlne, waa icarcelf a le» neceaiary piit of travelling 
{ear. In i tounttj (rhere inni are fir between and water icirce, It la the 

tlongjtleil pear, lo capacity «|iul to from t«a to five i 
fumiibed with * nnDodirii cup¡ but Sancho, at we thill 
uied no luch ccfinrmcnt. bul drank oul of the boltle dir 
DOce huí ■ naCivc bu ría nuilertd. 



like aU hli brelhtcn. 



Don Ouixote 



without good-bye to his Housekeeper and Niece, salüed fbrth 
from the villagc one night ' wllhoul any pcrson secing ihcm, 
inaking such good way lliat at daybreak ihcy Mt them- 
selves safe against discovery, cvcn ¡f they wcrc searched for. 
Sancho Panza rodé on his ass like a pairiarch, with his 
wallccs and hís Icathcr-bottle,' and a huge desire to see 
himself Govcrnor of the Isle which h¡s master had pramised 
him. It chanced that Don Quixote took the same coime 
:ind road whích he had takcn on his first journey,* whifb 
was by the plaín of Montiel, along which he travellcd with 
less discomfbrt than on the former occasion, because it was 
the hour of dawn, and the sun's rays, stríklng them obliquely, 
did noi distress them. Prcsently Sancho Panza said to hís 

— Look, your worship, Sir Knighi Enant, that you do 
not forgct ihat about the Isle you promised mej for I warrant 
me ablc to govern ¡t, be ít ever so large. 

To which Don Quixote replicd : — Thou must know, 
friend Sancho Panza, that it was a custotn greatly ín vogue 
with the Knights Errant of oíd lo make their squires 
Governors of the Isles or Kingdoms thcy won ; * and I am 
resolved that, on my part, so grateful a usagc shall not fiúl — 
rather I design to surpass me therein, for they someiimes, 
and perhaps for the mosi part, waited till their squires were 
grown oíd ¡ and when worn out with service, and spcnding 
eyit days and worse nights, ihey got somc titic of Count, or 
artne Icsst Marquess, of some valley or provínce of more or 
less valué. But if thou lívest and 1 hve, Íi may well be thu 

> Tbt date hu beea prccÍKly fixcd bf Hirtirnlniuli, by ui d(bor>le prOMM 
Ot calculationi, lach (■ míghi malee (he ipirit at Ccrvinto loK Íti " leriant ili," 
ta be the níght of ThunJaf, the 14Ü1 of AugutC, ijjg. Scc the Chronologr cT 
Doo Cuiíote, ia Appemiii A, vol. ít. ' See note 1 on p. 97. 

■ See the BtÍBirirr d( Don Quilate ia A.Fpendiii B, *aL n. 

' The leadÍDg precedent Ín ibe boúl» ii thal of Aimiilil' iqalre, Gindiltn, 
tibam hii axttcer nude I-ord of the Imult Firme, m rcwird and piycDcnt of Um 



Don Ouixote 



w 



ere six days I shall win me some Kingdom, which has Othera 
adhering to it, just fit for thee to be crowned King of one of 
thcm.' And hold not this for any great matter, for thíngs 
and events happen to such Knights Errant by meaos so 
unheard and unthought of, thaC with case 1 míght be able 
to bestow on thee evcn more than I have promised, 

— By the same token, said Sancho Panza, if I becomc 
King by some one of those mirades o{ whtch your worship 
s^ks, no less wil] Juana Gutiérrez,* my d^r^,' come to be 
n, and my children Princes, 
Who doubts it ? answered Don Quixotc. 
I doubt it, replied Sancho Panza, becauae I am thinking 
that, even though God rained kingdoms upon the earth, 
none of them wouid sit well on the head of Mari-Guticrrez. 
Know, sir, that she is not worth two maravedís for Queen. 
Countess wouId suit her better— nay, and God help hcr. 

— Commend thee to God, Don Quíxote answered, for 
He will give her what is niost bcñtting ; but do noi thou 
debase thy heart so low as to be content wíth aught less 
than to be Captain-Generai.' 

— I will not, dear sir, quoth Sancho ; eapccially as I have 
a master so grand as your worship, who will know how to 
give me all that will do me good and I am able to bear. 

' The hetoa of ehivíliic romince givt iwiy kiogdom» m (asily ai thfjr 

tá tiguin íd malc diíguiK, ihe IciDedom of Theb», and Tirante made one oí hü 
Itnighii King of Fu. 

» Sancho'i wife. here called Juana Guticrreí, ii proently namcd Mari- 
Gnlierra. By-md-by we ihall Icnow her la Juana Panza, and again » Tcrcu 
Ptnia, wboae maidra ñame wai Catcaja. Thii oirleiuicH. for which he hii been 
Mvenly repcoved, ii turneit by ibe aulbor himielf ioto a jeit in ihe Serond Pait. 

* Oíi;!> — a valpr Btiaejoi vite v iwcetliurt,ÍD uae «mong the pícatoque 
jenlrj. 

* jlátlaiuJt — lil. a man pul in fronl (cu aátlanti) by the Idng on vtmt 
■pecial tervice — accordiog to the law of ihe Parlt¿i, an oSica invateH with 
eRnaidiatry pottrn. admiaiiirative and jadicial, on ihe frontier — a wirilai of 
tbt nurcba, Mmetbini higher thin goveinot. In modecn tíoin ih' title 



CHAPTER VIII 

Oftht go9d suecas whiíh Don ^ixole kad in the ttrribU and 
never-befare-imagined Adventure if the JVmdmilís, v/ith 

other events worihy ofhappy rtmembranct 



While thus convcrsing ihcy caught sighi of some thíjty 
or forty windmills which are in that pbin,^ and as soon a3 
Don Quixotc perceivcd thcm he exclaimed : 

— Fortune ¡s guiding our afFairs better than wc could 
have dcsired ; for look yonder, fricnd Sancho, whcre thirty 
or more huge giants are revcalcd, with whom I intend to do 
battle and take all theír lives, With their sporls wc will 
begin to enrich ourselves, for this ¡s fair war, and it is doing 

' Thit, Ihc moM famoiu idvcnturc in Dt» ^ixeit, which hu Uconu i worM'i 
pinble. appnn al finí lighC to le a UctLe too citnvtgant, — the Enjliib readtr 
DOt tcing able lo cancrivc how > mu on honeUclc, howcvcr bold, could racb 
•s higb 31 wilb ¡evelted Unce to itUck [he uil of > windinill. The wíndraill», 
however, of Spiln, ind certiinljF of La Mincha, — 1> mty he leea ia Oan 
QulioEe'i caunti7 to Cbii day, — ure much imiller than thou of Engliad. L* 
Maoch* bcing ta clCTiWd. tmlcw pbln. ihcn í> na ocaiiion lo nulie (he milli 
¡BSty in arder to atth ihc wínd. The plaín ibaot tbe Piit of Lipíce i* úotttá 
with windmilli, ibosl which there » ■ local Indition that thc^ once bilanged 
lo a Señar Qoiiolc { ind, u Ford «bierveí, tfaiy are " rnlly nol unlikf gíiatt U 
a diitance." The Knighl on honeback would haw hii arma sbost dd a lcn\ 
whb their uil> ¡ BOt would the eacounler be luile lo dapeíalc ao eolcfpiiw i» 
il woald be to one amíling ■ windiniU tn Keiit or Sunei. The íntroduclion 
□r windmilli into Spain wal Dnlj a generatioa anlecedeitl lo the lime of 
Ccrvanlri, lo that ihey wen itill noveltiei in (he country. The Zancira. one 
of the fcedera of the Guadiana, accordmg lo an autbority quoted bjr Clemeacin, 
dried up enlirely between ihe ycan 1505 ind I (4;, wbjcb Icd lo Üw lulítullaa 
of windniÜli ín ihi» arid, cora-powíng dúirict. 
100 



Don Ouixote 



God great scrvice to clcar this evil spawn from oíF thc &ce 
of the earth. 

— What giants ? askcd Sancho Panza. 

— Those thou seest there, replied his master, with the 
long arms, which some of thcm are wont to have oF two 
[cagues' length. 

^Take care, sír, cried Sancho, for those we see yonder 
are not giants but wíndmills, and what in thcm looIc like 
arms are the sails which, being whirled about by the wind, 
make thc mill-sione to go. 

— It is manifest, answered Don Quixote, that thou art not 
cxperienced in this matter of advcntures. They are giants, 
and if thou art afraid, get thee away homc and dispose ihy- 
self to prayer while I go to engage wíth thcm ¡n fiercc and 
uncqual combai. 

So saying he clapped spurs to Rozinante, his steed, 
without hccding the cries which Sancho Panza his squire 
uttered, warning him that those he was going to encountcr 
were beyond ail douln windmiiis and not giants. But he 
wcnt on, so fully persuadcd ihat they were giants that he 
neither listened to the cries of his squire Sancho ñor stopped 
to marlc what they were, but shoutcd to thcm in a loud 
raice: 

— FIy not, cowards, vile creatures, for it b a single 
cavalicr who assaíls you ! 

A slight breeze having sprung up at this momcnt, the 
great S4il-arms began to move, on perceíving which Don 
Quixoic cried : 

— Allhough ye sbould wield more arms than faad the 
gíant Briareus, ye shall pay for it ! 

Saying this, and commending himself with his whole 
soul to his kdy Dulcinea, beseeching her to succour him 
iii this pcril, wcll covcrcd with his buckier, with his lance 
in rcst, he charged al Rozinante's best gallop and attackcd 
ÜK firet mjll before him, and thrusting his lance inio the 



Don Quixote 



sail the wind turned it with so much víolencc that the lance 
was shivered to pieces, carrying with it the horse and hii 
ridcr, who vi^sent rolling ovcr the p!ain sorely damaged. 

Sancho Panza hastened to his masier's hclp as fest as his 
ass could go, and when he carne up he Tound the Knight 
unable to stir, such a shock had Rozinante givcn him in 
the M. 

— God bless me, críed Sancho, did I not tell your worahíp 
to look to wbat you werc dotng, for they were naught but 
windmills ? And nobody could mistake them but one who 
had other such in his hcad.^ 

— Pcace, friend Sancho, said Don Quixote j for the 
ihings of war are more than othcr subjcct to continua! 
mutation. And, moreover, I be!ie\'c, and that ís the truth, 
that the same sage Fríston who robbed me of my room and 
my books hath turned ihese giants into windmills, in order 
to deprive me of the glory of theír overthrow, so grcat is 
the enmity he bears to me ; but in the upshot his evil aits 
shall little avail against the goodness of my sword. 

— God send it as He will, answered Sancho ; and be!p- 
ing him to ríse, the Knighi remounicd Rozinante, whosc 
shoulders were half dislocated. 

Discoursing of the late adventure, thcy followed the toad 
tt> the Pass of Lapice,* for there, said Don Quixote, it was 
not possible to miss finding many and various advcntures, 
it being 3 spot so much frequented. He was much con- 
cerned, however, at the loss of his lance, and, accosting bis 
squire, said : — I remember to have read that a certain Spanish 
Knight, namcd Diego Pérez de Vargas, having broken his 
sword in a battie, tore off a bough or stem of an oalc, and 



» PurrN Láfici 
callcd bcdiue of 
Throagh ihii nn 



■Poní LafiJim, — ■ F*N belwecD two olive-clid hilU, M 
le ttonti which compou thun. once uKd for hallding, 
le liighrcMd from Midrid to AAddudi. In the lime uf 
3 the country hcrobouti )e«ni [a hin beca wcU truodcil. ll ú dov 
btit gtuntEd oliic lr«*. 

102 




Don Ouixote 



rith it performeU such deeds that day, and pounded so many 
Moors, chat he gol ihe surnamc oí Machuca, and thus he and 
his desccndants were called from that day forth Vargas y 
Machuca.' I have told thce this, because I propose, Trom 
the first oak or stout tree to rend a branch such and so good 
as that, with which I desigii and intend to do such deeds 
that thou inaysi regard thyself as right fortúnate lo have 
meríted to come to see them, and be a witness of things 
which shall scarce be credited. 

— - By God's hetp, answered Sancho, and I believe it all 
as your worship says ; but straighten yourself a bit, for 
methinks you go lop-sided, and it must be firom the bruís- 
ing of your fell. 

— ^That is the truth, said Don Quixote, and if I complain 
not of the pain, it is because it ís not aliowed to Kníghts 
Errant to complain of any wounds, though their bowels 
thould protrude therefrom.* 

— If that ¡5 so, I have no more to say, rcplied Sancho ; 
ihough God knows I should be glad fbr your worship to 
complain when anything hurts you. As to myself, I can 
tay that complain I must of the smallest pain I have, if so 

' From nuckiear, la (Kwod. The uplak of Diego Pete» de Vtrgu li men- 
tíoati bf Diego RodrÍEiiei de Atmelí, i CiDon of Murcia in the fiñeeoth 
cenlury ; and a the lubjecl of a hallad io SepulTeda'i collcitioa (Dnran, vo!. n. 
p. i;), ll la alio celebrated by Lope de Vep in hii Laaril ilt Afali, it. viil. 
Over the J«ei gale at Seville there wat oocc to be aeen, orved oa the itonea, 
the foUowiDg tribute to thit hcio'i bcotber,— ■ celebnled Chriitúa leader in the 
wan at tbe kiog San Fcmanilo :~ 

Hetealet me edificó. 

De (nunw y torra iltai i 
V el Re¡r unta me ganó 
Con Garci Perca de Vargit. 

ru ou ot the raleí of The Order of Koighthoad inilitoted by Alfoma 
I. h IJJO, oUhI Ij BmiJt,áat no Knight, hawerct badljr . /sunded, it 



Don Ouixote 



be as that this law o( not compkining reachcs not «O 
Knights Errants' s(juires. 

Don Quixote could not help smiling at his squire's 
simplicity, and expbincd to hím that he mtght very well 
complain how and when he pleased, with or withoul cause, 
for up to that time he had read nothing to thc contrary in 
the ordinance of chivalry. Sancho hade hím consider that 
it was the hour of dinner, but Don Quixote replied that he 
had necd of none, but that Sancho might eat whenever he 
chose. With this Hcence Sancho made himself as comfort- 
able as he could upon his ass, and taking out of thc wzUets 
what he had dcposited thcre, went riding and feeding very 
leisurely behind his master; and from time to time he 
would hft the bottle with so tnuch rehsh that the daínticst 
tapster of Malaga míght havc envied him. And whilst he 
rode in that (ashion, multiplying his draughis, he remcmbcred 
nothing of any protnise which his masier had tnadc him, ñor 
hcid it to be any toil, ralher a recreation, lo go in scarch of 
adventures, however dangerous they might be, 

Thcy passcd that night among some trees, and from one of 
them Don Quixote tore oS a dry bough which might serve 
him in somc sort for a lance, líxing on it the iron head 
which he took from that which had bcen brolcen. He slept 
not all that night, thinlcing on the lady Dulcinea, ¡n order 
that he might conform to what he had read in his boolu of 
those who passcd many nights in the foresls and descfts 
without siceping, entertained by the memoríes of thcír 
miscresses. Not so did Sancho Panza pass the night, who, 
his stomach being fuil, and not with succory water,* hüd 
carried it all off in onc sound sleep ; and, if his master had 
not awakened him, neilher the rays of the sun which thone 
in his face nor the song of the birds, who in great number 

> That ú. with nothiag M iaaoant. Succory, or cbicorjr, witer w*i ■ 
in vogue ia llut age «■ ■ c«i)ÍDg drink, the berb hiviog " much vi 
ibc hot boraÍDi of thc livtr," «ccordiog to Giruilc, hit Htrta!. 



jBAP.8 Don Ouixote 



very glecfully saluted the coming of the new day, wouM 
havc bcen able to make him stir. On rising, he made trial 
of bis boicie, tinding it somewhac leaner than the night 
before, and his heart was grieved to thinlc thai they wcre 
not caking the road soon to remedy this defect. Don 
Quixotc would not bréale his fast, for, as we have said, he 
had resolved to diet upon savoury memories. 

Thcy turned into the track they had before been taking 
towards the Pass of Lapice, which, aboui ihree o'dock of 
the day, they discovered. At sight of ít Don Quíxote 
cxclaímcd : 

— Here, brother Sancho, we may díp our hands up to the 
elbows in what they cali adventures. But take note, thougb 
thou seesi me ín ihe grcatest danger on earth, thou tnust 
not sct thy hand to thy sword ^ to defend me, unless thou 
shotildst perceive that thcy who assail me are rabble and low 
pcople, in which case thou canst come to my aid ; but Í( 
they are Kntghts, by no manner of means is tt lawful ñor 
zUowed by the rules of chivalry thai thou shouldsi assíst me 
until thou art dubbed a ICníght. 

— ^Surc, your worship, rcpüed Sancho, you shall be righl 
wcll obeycd in this, more by token seeing that, for me, I 
am a peaccful man, and not fond of thrustíng myself in 
broils and battles. Veriiy, in what touches the defending 
of my person I shall not take much account of those rules, 
for those of God and man permit every onc to defend him- 
sclf against any one who would harm him. 

— Ñor do 1 say less, Don Quixote replied ; but in this 
matter of helping me against ICnights, thou hast to put a 
curb on thy natural impulses. 





• Tbü pÉWgc ú ooe 


of tboie 


q«o(ed in p™.f 


of CennntH- urdm 


Den, u 


S>B<ha i< 


>""*< "> *»"7 


• iwoH, 


, wheteif, from • 


Dt.«,uent P.WE». ít 


úcleír 


Ihii he h)d 


Inane. Bot,! 


.uKly.«. 


; nuf coDcdvr Ihi 


1 to be piTt of d™ e 


oiiote-i 


fcli 


iiioa, w 


ho, im.pnlng 


h'imieír 1 


10 be * vcry pcrín 


:t Knight, believed Su 


[>cIiota 


bci 


. «,mfí. 


cH «l^iw, .nd 


IhctcTore 


inovided wlili ill 


ihil ptrlilníd to Ihc 


■ininly 



Don Quixote 



— I promise to do so, said Sancho ; and I wrill keep that 
precept as strictly as the Lord's day. 

Whiie they were ihus conversing, ihere appcared on the 
road two friars of ihc order of S. BencdJct, mounted on 
what might be two dromedaríes, for thcy were no smallcr, 
the two mu les on which they rodé. They worc thcir 
travelling masks,^ and carried umbrellas. Aftcr them carne 
a coach, with four or five on horseback accompanying ¡t, 
and two muleteers on foot, Thcre rodé in the coach, >3 
was afterwards known, a lady of Biscay, who was going to 
Scville, where her husband was, who was bound to the 
Indies on a very honourable charge.' The friars were not 
of her company, although they were Iravcllíng the same vny. 

Scarcely had Don Quixotc espied them when he ex- 
claímed to hís squire : 

— Either I much mistake or this should be the most 
famous adventure ever seen, for thosc dark forms ihat loom 
yondcr, doubtless, are certain enchantcrs who are carrying 
off in that coach somc Princess they have stolen ; and it 
behoves me to redress this wrong with all my might. 

— This will be a worsc job than the windmills, said 
Sancho. Look, your worship, those are Benedictine friars, 
and the coach will belong to some pcople travelting. Mind 
what I say, and take c^e what you do, and let not the 
devil deceive you. 

— I have told thec, Sancho, Don Quíxotc answcred, 
that thou knowest little of the mystery of adventures. 
What I say is the truih, and now thou shait sce it, 

Saying this he went forward and postcd himself in the 
middle of the road along which the friars were coming, 

' ThcK wcrc miiki oí paiicbaard to pralnl ibc fia from ibe lan >Dd dun, 
wilh ciyítali to fií ihe tj<*. The «ppfirínce proentcd by Ihí fri«r» tin» 
dügoiKd muit haVF beca luScicaily wcitd to «BgECit enchinten ta Don 

* Señlle wu ia ihoK di]rt tlie gnu emporium of forclgn tnSc and the port 
of depiitan lar America. 

1 06 



Don Ouixote 



ind, when thcy h 



r enough co hear wbat he saí3, 



he excUimed, ín a loud voice : 

— Monstrous and devilish crew ! This moment reléase 
the exahed Prínccsses whom in that coach ye are cariying 
away perforce, or prepare to receive instant death as a just 
chastisemenc for your misdeeds. 

The friars drew rein, and stood amazed, both at Don 
Quixotc's figure and at his speech, to which they replied : 

— Sir Knight, we are neithcr monstrous ñor devilish, bul 
two monk3 of S. Benedict who are traveíling about our 
busincss, ñor do we know whether in this coach there come 
any forced PrJncesses or not. 

— Ño sofl words for me, for I know you, perfidious 
churls ! cried Don Quixote ; and, without waiting fiírther 
parlcy, he spurred Rozínatite, and, with lowered lance, made 
at the foremost friar with such fury and vigour that if the 
monk had not shppcd ofF his mulé he wouM havc been 
brought to the ground and badly hurt, if not Icilled outright. 
The sccond monk, secing the way they treated his companion, 
cUpped his heels to the sides of his big mulé ' and fled across 
ihc country, swifter than the vcry wind. Sancho Panza, 
when he saw the monk on the ground, atighting nimbly 
from his ass ran up to him and began to strip hím of his 
garments. Upon this, two of the friars' scrvants carne up 
and asked him why he was disrobing their master. Sancho 
answered that it was his lawFuI perquisite as spoíls of the 
battlc which hís lord, Don Quixote, had won, The mule- 
leci^, who did not tafce the joke, ñor understood that about 
spoils and battlcs, seeing that Don Quixote was now at a 
distance spenkíng with the ladíes in the coach, fell upon 



Cltnuí 


ndnhe 


re enjoyi , 


««»,rtri«, 


«phov, 


3 h¡> rival 


, (he EngLith o 


Bowlc, 


, who. 


miilikini 


; Ihi leDtc 


oí ihu 


pungí," 


«verted «aií/* 


(.ib). 


The*. 


mndiiioa 


, though ingcDiout 


««.geh. w 


M unncccmry. 


Wng. 




Spmiih. U 


, .ignify 


the bipiH 


., of the •nim> 



Don O^ixote 



Sancho uid tbrew him down, and, not leaving him a hair on 
his beard, thcy kickcd and mauled him withouc mcrcy, and 
Icft him stretchcd on thc ground, scnseless and brcathlcss. 
As for the fn»i, without staying a moment, he remountcd, 
all ircmbling and terror-strícken, and all che colour gcHic 
from his face ; and when he Found himself on his mulé, 
he spurred after his comrade, who stood a good vny oS 
awailtng him, and biding the issue of that suddeo assaiilt ¡ 
and, without caring to stop for the cnd of thc advcnture, 
they pursued their journey, Crossing themselves more tban 
as if they had thc devil at their backs. 

Don Quixotc, as we have said, was discoursing with the 
lady in the coach, to whom he said : 

— Your beautcousncss,' my lady, may now dispase of 
your pcrson as it may best picase you, for now thc pridc of 
your ravishcrs is Iaid in thc dust, overthrown by thÍ9 my 
puissant arm. And that you may not pine to learn the 
ñame of your delivercr, know that I am called Don Quixote 
of La Mancha, Knight Errant, adventurer, and caprivc of 
the pecrless and beauteous Dona Dulcinea del Toboso ; 
and in requital of the boon you have received of me, I 
would ask no more than that you should betake yourself to 
El Toboso and prcsent yourself on my behalf beforc that 
lady, and tell her what I have done for your deliverance.' 

All that Don Quixote said was overheard by a squire, 
onc of those who accompanicd the coach, who was a 
Biscayan. He, seeing that thc coach was not let to pass 
on, but that they spoke of turning it back ai once to £1 
Toboso, weni up to Don Quixotc, and, laying hold of his 

* Don Qtiiiole apin uici here ihe laüijuiled ind •Catcl)' fonni of ipczch, 
njch II firmatíra for Atrmosura, fatrr for Áacrr, JírAc for éácAd^ 

* So Amidií chirged ihe ihiit]' knighu isd íarty dtaitt laá átmteít wlioin 
he libciited from tbc giint Midinjue, tD pmcnt IhemidTn bcfore Ü» Qaeot 
Bríwna (ch. \\v.). And >o Eiplandún, hit too, tadi ibe iwmtf duiíKli ind 
olhdi mboni he mcued fram ■ cave gouded by Iwenty fcrecíont mm wítli tttt, 
Id prneal themiclvo bttme tbc Empcrar of Coattaalmoplc, liit mktrtu* hlhcr. 

io8 



Don Quixote 



bnce, thus addressed hím m bad Castíliui and worse 
Biscayan : 

— Gct away with thec, Knight, and go to the devil ; for 
by God who made me, if thou dost not let thc coach go, I 
will Icilt thee as I am a Biscayan.^ 

Don Quixote, who understood him very well, replicd 
¡th much composure. 

— If thou wcrt a gentlctnan, as thou art not, I would 
B ihis havc chastised thy folly and thy insolence, cattifF 

To which ihe Bíscayan responded : 

— I no gentleman f * I vow lo God thou liest, as thou 
art a Christian. Throw down thy lance and draw thy 
sword, the water soon thou shalt sec thou art carrying to 
the cat i ' Biscayncr by land, gentleman by sea, gentleman 

the devil, thou liest, and mínd if aught else thou sayest ! 

— Now shall you sce, quoth Agrages,* responded Don 
and flinging his lance to the ground he drew his 

'fdjgrasped his buckier tight, and rushed at thc Bíscayan, 

■ The BÍKiyia ipolti Biiciyin, ar braken Spioiih. in the oríginil. iftcr ihc 
DUnner of hi> couotrymen, Ihen, ii now, a common lubjtct of ridículi imong 
Sp*DÍ>>i wiu. Ccrvinta Kemí lo hive i fpccial gmdge igainil Búciyang, who 
míe icfUHiI ia ha dty oF bemg urint Dffi«->«lien, ind wrte >t uopopulir 
H Scotchmen wcn in Englind in the reiga or Jaoiei I. Qoevcdo, in hii Bxi tf 
Mvrf Tktng% ana Marq Oiter Mort, lay^ thit if yon i*iih ta leini Biicayan ycn 

ia wliit >he Ulgiy «qniíe doei in thii putige. 1 liavc not thought it Brj iluty to 
rcDiter hii bid Spiniíb iota hcoken Engliib, u lomc of thc tiinilitori have done- 

* The /furvífiu uonot be teodered io Eogliih. Thc Bíicayui ukci oflence 
bcctuK Doa Quiíotc cilli him no ceiallrm, memiog dd knight. But abcüirs 
in Spiniíh jncini gentleman ai wetl ii knighl, ind ¡t il in the former icnie 
(which lloit^ he ktiow)^ Ihat the Biicayan taka the word. 

* UrvíT ti gtu eí apu — lo any Üie al [o tlie water, a eommon proverláil 
fbme eiprruive of ao eotrrprÍM of difficulty ind dingct. The Bianyan, in hit 
wratb, lunu th( cal alout and the ptovetb apide donm. 

* Atara la inriJii, ¿iji Agragn — a familiar phraie of mcaace, lakra ftom 
AmaJií. Agrigca w» a couain of that liefo, a briggarl who wai alwiy» threalcdi. 
Ing bli opponcnU vihoi piavoked with "now yau ihall kc." 

109 



I 



the I 



Don Ouixote 



bent on talcing hís Ufe. The BUcjyan, secing him come 
on thus, though he could have wished lo dísmount frotn his 
mulé, as being one oF ihose lent on hire which he could not 
trust, could do nothing clsc than draw his sword. It 
happened, luclcily for him, that he was near the coach, 
whence he snatched a cushion to serve him for a shield ; 
and then thcy fell on one anothcr as íf they had been two 
mortal enemies. The rest of the people wished to make 
pcace between them but could not, for the Biscayan said, 
in his dísjointed specch, that if they wouid not let him finish 
the battie he would himself kill the mistress and all who 
hindered him. The lady of the coach, amazed and terríficd 
at what she saw, made the coachman draw a little aside, and 
sat viewing the deadly combat from afar. In the coursc 
thercof ihe Biscayan deait Don Quixocc a míghty stroke on 
lop of his shoulder over his buclcler, which, if the Knígfat 
had been without defence, would havc clefi him to the 
watst. Don Quixotc, on feeling ihe weight of that 
tremendous blow, cried out aloud, saying:— O mistress of 
my Eoul, Dulcinea, flower of beauteousness, succour ihis 
your Knight, who, for the salce of thy great goodness, finds 
himsclf in this diré cxtremíty ! 

To say this, to raise his sword, to sheher himself well 
behind his bucldcr, and to rush upon the Biscayan, was all 
the work of a moment,' the Knight being resolved to 
venture all upon a single stroke. The Biscayan, who saw 
him thus advance, perceived his courage to be cqual to his 
bearing, and determined to do as Don Quíxote had done. 
And so he awaited the onsct, protected by his cushioii;, 
without being able to turn his mulé to one side or the other, 
for she, now dead weary ñor made for these tricks, could not 
budge a step. 

Don Quixote, then, as has been said, carne at the cniftjr 
» of thíi familiar tociitioa, of to mnch 
novéis of one, Iwo, «nd Üun valnmei. 



Don Ouixote 



Biscayan, with his sword uplifted, wíth dcsign to cleave hím 
ihrough the middle ; and the Biscayan awaiied him with 
sword also rajsed and shielded by his cushion ; and aU the 
bystanders were trembling with fear and suspense at what 
might be the issue of those terrible blows with which thcy 
raenaccd each other ; and the lady of the coach and her 
fcmale attendants were ofTering up a thousand prayers and 
vows to all the images and houses of devotion in Spain, that 
God might deliver their squire and (hem out of that great 
peril in which they found themselves. 

But the misfornine of all thís is that at this point and 
period the autfaor of this history leaves the bátele suspended, 
excusing himself on the grbund that he found nothing more 
written of these exploits of Don Quíxote than has been herc 
relatcd. True it is that the sccond author • of this work 
was unable to believe that so curious a history had been 
consigncd to oblivion, or that the wits of La Aplancha should 
havc been so little curious as not to possess in their archives 
or in their registries some documents whích trcat of thís 
famuus Knight i and in this persuasión he despaired not of 
finding the end of this deiectable history, which, Hcaven 
favouring him, he did lind in the Second Part.^ 

' Thil i». CuviBta himielf— krtpiog up the fitlioa of the Moor. CiJ 
Hamct Bmcngeli, bciog Ihv origmat aulhar, in imitation of the boolu of 
chivilrieí, which were utiully ucribid to (óreign, geocriliy <o Eíilcm, lourcei. 

* Ccrvinln' originil ddign w» to divide hii Dan ^ixeii iuto Ajur partt « 
booki, ID imitiiion of jínuJii, thoagh tbe chaptcit were Diunbeteii coniccutively. 
Wbeo, líler ten yean, bi> coDCiaDitioD of Den ^iMeii ippemd, he called (he 
Dcw volqnuifaeSennd Pan, u throughoul thi> tianilalÍDn 1 havc called it Tb( 
otiginil Sfcond Pan began with ch, ía. j the Third Part with ch. iv.) tbe 
Ponith Part with cfa. iiviü. 



í 



CHAPTER IX 

Whtrtitt ti deí'idtd and endiá the ituptndius iaUU feught 
ietwten the gaüant Biicayan and the valiant Manchtgan 

Im the First Part of this history we left the valorous 
Biscayan and the renowned Don Quixotc ' with theír 
swords unsheaihed and uplifted, ¡n the act of dcalíng two 
furious downward cuts* such as, if they had reached homc, 
would at icast have clcft and divided ihcm from lop to 
botlom, splilting each oF them like a pomegranate ¡ at that 
point so crilical this agreeable history stupped and was left 
mutilaied, witliout our author giving us a hint where the 
remainder could be Tound. This caused me much annoy- 
uice, fbr the plcasure of having rcad thís llttle was turned 
inio disgust when 1 rcflected on the small chance therc was 
of finding that grcat portion which, in my opinión, was 
missing of so relishing a tale. It was a ihíng impossible, 
methought, and contrary to all right usage, that so good a 
Knighi should have laclced somc sage to lake upon him the 
charge of writitig of his unheard-of achíevements — a thing 
which did not fail any of the Knighis Errant of those wb<^ 
S people say, go upon thcir adventurcs ; for each of these 
' tcpt one or two sages ready to hand, who not ofily wrote of 



the grcat Sicilian Bravonnl 
thapui to anoüier. víth th 

» I>íi furihundia /ajinan. The i 
the finjinoi, venical, fiom tbr haá 
left } and the rrvti, from ihc Icñ (o ( 



piiiagc in ibe Eiftjo di Prmiipity CaiaUmt, wbon 
■nil the fimoui Aftion Brufililofa ure left, from OM 



uplifteit (pL 5, bk. i. ch. i.). 

principal itrolcei at (ward play 
iward j the ují, from (he right ti 



U-. 9 



Don Ouixote 



5, but described the minutest ihoughis and most 
l^rivial actions, were they never so much hidden ; and a 
;ht so distinguished could not have been so unfortunatc 
1 lacle what Platir and the like had in such pknty. I 
could not, iherefore, bríng niysdf to beüeve that so gallanc 
a history had been left maimed and muiilated, and impuicd 
the fault to the malice of time, the devourer and destróyer 
of all things, which had eithcr concealed or consumed ¡t, 
On the other hand, it struclc me that since among our 
hero's books there had been found some so modern as the 
Um/eiiing nf 'JtaUuty and the Nymphs and Shepherdi of 
Hfnares^ his history also must be modern, and that, though 
it might not be written, it would be ¡n the memory of the 
pcúplc of his village and the neighbourhood. This thought 
made tne anxious and eager to learn, really and truly, of all 
ihc tife and marvels of our lamous Spaniard, Don Quíxote 
of La Mancha, Ught and mirror of Manchegan Knighthood, 
and the firM who, in our age, and in these our calamitous 
limes, sel himsclf to the toil and excrcise of arms-errant, to 
rcdrcss wrongs, to succour widows, to protect maidens, such 
as go about, wiih their whips^ and palfreys, and ail their 
■ginity about them, from forest to forest, from valley to 
i for, unless it were some lewd fcUow or boor with 
1 cap and axe,* or some prodigious gíant, who forccd 
m, damscb there were in the days of oid who, at the end 
r etghiy years, during all which ihey siepi not a single 
Ight undcr a roof, were as whole at their burial as the 
bOthers that bo» them. I say, then, for these and many 
"wr rcasons, our gallant Quixote is worthy of unceasing 
i immemorial praiscs ; and evcn to me they should not 



■ yAufa, CkmHitin caojcctum ihat ttí word miy be tairii — " b 
t ^aMo ytmttft is luppon of ÚtU rciding. 

' JVfi vMoí át hachm y eaftlliat i tile lUC uid Üic ilcel aif 
nmodat íuratlun: "f Üu: lowFt (Un of fightúig mm in the chivdric i 
VOL. I 113 



Don Ouixote 



be denied for the trouble and paiiu I toóle in searching fbr 
the end of this agreeable hístory ; althoiigh I confcss Uutir 
Hcaven, chance, and my good stan had not beFriendcd me, 
the world would have remained lacking and wíthout the 
pleasure and pastimc whích, for somc two hours, he can 
have who shall rcad with attention. 

The discovery thereof happencd in this wíse : — One day, 
being in the Alcaná of Toledo,' there came up a lad lo sell 
some parchments and oíd papers lo a silk-mcrcer i and, 
being very fbnd of reading, even the toni papers in the 
streets, carried away by this my natura] beiit, I toóle up a 
parchment from among those the boy was sclling, and saw 
in it characters which I recognised to be Arable, and, noi 
being able to read chem, though I recognised thcm, I wcni 
to see if I could fínd thereabout sonie Morisco who spolce 
Spanish^ to rcad them to me ; ñor was it more difficult lo 
meet with an intcrpreter there, though 1 had sought him 
for another, better, and more difficult language.* In fine, 
chance presenied me with one to whom I explained my 
wishes, placing the pamphlct into his hand. He opcned it 

' jUcuU ét Tolidn. The Alctni of Toledo w» an ancicni nurlui-pboc, 
clúcAy inhobitrd bir J«vni in the vieinily of tbe Cithninl. A poition of ¡t «raí 
lamed into ctoiiten b)> Archbiihap Toiatío íd the ñftceoih (mtiu}'. At the 
ind of the liiletnth ceutory, the •jiurler wit wboll; occupicd \>y dnpm «Oil 
mcrcen. The ipiíce ii now incluikd, fat ihe nunt put, in ibc Calle ik Ut 

' Algai Moriicü úljamiuU. jfíjjmu wsi the Moorúh word lo denote thr 
Spatiith ■• ipokcn bf the Moori ia Spaio — wheoce jljuintaJc, one nrted fa 
Sponitii. So algurtiia — whence hu come onr Engliih "gihlieriih" — wat tbi 
Afibic apolceu bjr Spanish Chnitiant, 

* That ti Id lay, Hebrew. Toledo (whofC very ruine ha« been tuppOMri 
lo be He brew] «raí the greal icit of the Jew> in Spain, traces ot whoie {Dod 
tafle and wealth itíU lunáve in th<r oíd ^aatter of the yuUtk. The ToMu 
Jewi Mught to eecapc the general doom prononnced agtinat thme oT tbeir fiitli 
by pleading Ihal the Jcwt who inhaUted Toledo in the lime af TiberÍM dlt- 
■pprovtd of the crucíltiion of Jetuí Chrínt. The plea did not aníl, uid thdr 
puliion w^ ununí ihe dirkeit clupten of thi 



Don Quixote 



I 



I «HAF. 9 

in thc middie, and, reading a littíe there, began to laugh, 
I asked hím what he laughed at, and he repUed, at a Uling 
thcre was written in the ntargin by way of annotation. I 
badc him tell me what it was, when, without ceasing to 
laugh, he said : — It is written here in the raargin thus : 
This Dulcinea of El Toboso, so often referrcd to in this 
story, they say had the best hand at salting p¡gs of any 
woman in all La Mancha. 

When I hcard him say Dulcinea del Toboso, I was 
S&rtied and ainazed, for at once it occurred to me that these 
parchmcnis contained the history of Don Quixote. Wiih 
this idea I pressed him to read the beginning, and this he 
did, turning It ofF-hand from Arabic into Castílian, saying 
that it commenced : H'ntory of Don ^ixate a/ La Mancha^ 
writltn hy Cid Hamtt hinengeli^ Arabian hUtarhgraphtr, 
1 had nced of much caution to dissemble the joy I felt when 
ihc title of the book reachcd my ears. Running after the 
sillt-mercer, I bought all the parchments and papcrs of thc 
boy fbr half a real ; though had he possessed any sense, and 
known how eagerly I coveted them, he might well have 
dcmanded and taken more than six reah by the sale. I 
repaired ímmediately to the cloisters of the cathedral with 
thc Morisco, and bade him turn me all those parchments, 
all which related to Don Quixote, into the Castilian tongue, 
iubtracting or addíng anythíng ; oftering h¡m any 
lyment he pleased. He was contcnt with fifty pounds of 
ind two mcasures of whcat, and promised to trans- 

a oomaioa dcvicc fÁ Üie lullioii of thc diivilríc romanea to pvc to 
lltcm n Eanini oh{¡D. The un» Cid HimM Bencngcli íi, of coune, a caín- 
t tA CiTTuita' biiin. Cid {SijyíJ) ¡t iQ AtiUc tille of b<iao<)r¡ Kunrf, 
\, Ahmeii, a cununon nime ; fieacngcli bu \*ta inluptctcil H]t Jil 
n of ihc itig"! inil, doubtlca, » Caaác wai the ñiit to •ujgnt, 
M iaxaiitá u thr Ariblc niuinlcaí lo Cervuitn. T!>a< <hm w» in laduit 
Iwccu ÚK (ume Cervintei inii fiar» it eIcst from the dtcuauuacc 
i of lili CefTinlM fimílj wm t»o iiigi. 
• TTi* Mflor» nudt gp for Ihór Jeptinlion of ih» juiee of liir pafc üy vi 



Don Ouixote 



btc them well und l^ibfiilly and vriút all expeditic>i) ; but I, 
lo fiaciliniG the business and not W lee so great a príz« oui 
of my hands, brought him lo my house, where, in i liicle 
more than a month and a half, he translated it aU in tbe 
manner as ¡s here told. 

On the first of Uie psrchmencs was painted, to the vcry 
lifc, the combat of Don Quixote with the Bíscayan, — they 
plantcd in the same posturc as the history relates, thcir swords 
uplifted, the onc covcrcd by his buciler, the other by bis 
cushioa, and the mulé of the Biscayan so natural thai ii 
could be seen to be a hircd one a stont's chrow off. The 
Btscayan had a scroll at hís feet, whích said : Den Sanche dt 
Azpótia^ which doubdess was bis ñame ; and at Rozinante's 
fcet was another which said, Don ^ixote. Rozinanie was 
marveliously depi'cted, so long and lank, so mcagre and lean, 
with so sharp a backbone and so fer gone in a cunsumption 
as to show at a giance with how much periinencc anil 
propriety there had been given to him the ñame of 
Rocinante. Near him stood Sancho Panza, bolding h¡$ ass 
by the haltcr, at whose feet was another iabel on which was 
written Suncho Zancas ; and he was made to have, according 
to the pictvre, a grcat belly, a short body, and long shanlcs ; 
and therefore they must have gíven him the ñame of Panza 
and of Zancas,' for by both tliese ñames iie is olled at 
diíFerent times in the history, There were some ocher 
lesser particulars to note, but they are all o( small ímportance 

iDordinite (ondncn fur Ihe ftuil, both heth ind ilry, at which thej Wfra in tlw 
Mirldlc Agu ibe moil ikilfal of callivilon. 

' jttftiiía it 1 \avra in Biicay, the fcitchpbcc of Ipiítiía Loyola. Wn the 
choice of Üxr Rime u (wit of tlir dalgnitlon of the furloi» Blacjpn pvnly 



anch," . 



ci™ 



denyiog llmt Sucho vrii cía aUei otlier thiu Puiu b Ihr couní of tliE 
itotji. 3ut nirdy hii cmtor liad a ii|hl to cali him wbat he plrut<l. Not bul 
thst tili choaiiag to •tciigoiU Sancho faiKi rithir thu iJkuti i* a deull Ib* 
which bia teadeti oiuii tvit be |¡ia(e(al to Covanto, 

ii6 



Don Ouixote 






and are not pertinent to the truchful telling of thís story } 
and no story ¡s bad if it is truthful. 

If against this one any objection can be raised on thc 
score of its Cnithfulness, ¡t can only be through its author 
being an Arab, — those of that nation being very apt al 
lying, although being such great enemies of ours we should 
suppose that they had rathcr fallen short thcrein than ex- 
ceeded. And such ¡s my opinión, fbr when he could and 
should indulge his pen in the praises of so worihy a Knight, 
mcthinks he deliberately passes them over in silence — a 
ihing ill done and worse designed, historians having, and 
being bound, to be precise, truthful, and whoüy dispassionate, 
that neithcr imerest ñor fear, neither rancour ñor affection, 
Id lurn them from thc path of truth, whuse mother is 
;ory,'the rival of time, the repository of great actions, the 
Itncss of the past, the exampie and pattern to the prescnt, 
the warning to the future. In this history will be found all 
that can be desircd in the pleasantcst ; and if it fail in any 
good quality, I hold it was through the íault of thc hound its 
itbor rather than through the defecc of the subject. In 
icf, thc Second Pan, according to the translation, begins 

I Their irenchant bladcs drawn and raised aloft of the two 
lorous and incensed adversaries, they secmed to menacc 
ítven, carth, and hell, such was thcir courage and aspect. 

* Thü. b)f ■ modiro Eneliih Irtnilatot, ii deoDUDttd ii a proof of «releuní» 

' t mikar. Ccrvaotn, Mf. Ümuby uyt, "of counc maat the oppmllc of 

' al tmlh wat thc mother of hittory." Mr. Ormiby, likc SíBor 

to Uke hi> author loo ütenlly. Why ihould not CerviDla 

f Üul "hinot; ii tlif mothei of liDlh"' Shall nolhing be uid bnt whai i( in 

r-baoka f Cicero had the luiie idei wben, in hli Di OrAiari, he ipolceof 

ti " luí veriutii." Hanuaboach, wbo, a> tuoal, ii on ibe lide of com- 

BopUcEi tiat iht tinHout to quale Gil Gonnlec DaviU. luthor of the lliinry 

fflif Jlftífuiliti </ Síltmana, publiihed ¡n 1606, who ipenlu of hiilory il manirá 

• Af vlU iim*»», fin» di U fntitaát, y madrt át la vtrásd. Hiitory l> the 

tr of trnih in the aoiac that, wilhout hirtory, the truih tannot be proiiuwd 

Kti la the íalhít otthe ivlilcncí. 

'■7 



Don Ouixote 



The firet to dclivcr his strolte was the choleric Bisav'an, 
and he dcalt it wíth so much Torce and fury that, had noc 
his sword turned astde on tts road, that onc blow would 
havc sufficed to bring lo an end ihat dirc conflict and the 
advcniures of our ICnighc But his good stars, which had 
rcserved him fbr grcater things, iwísted the bkde of his 
adversary so that, ihough it fell on his kft shoulder, it díd 
him no other injury than to disarm all that side o( him, 
carrying ofF on the way a great piccc of the helmet with 
half an ear, a!] which with hideous ruin carne to the ground, 
leaving our gentlcman in a very sore plight. Good Heaven 1 
who shail he be worthily to describe the rage which now 
cntered the heart of our Manchegan at tinding hímsclf tbus 
ireaied r To say no more, ¡t was such that he raÍKCcl him- 
sclf afresh in his stirnips, and, gripping hia sword mt 
ürmly in his two hands, struck at the Biscayan with such 
víolence, — fetching him full upon the cushion and opon hb 
head, — that, in spite of that defence, as thougb a mountain 
had tallen upon him, the squíre began to spout blood finm 
his nose and mouth and ears, and made as though he should 
have l^llen from his mulé, as doubtless he would have done 
had he not cbsped her round the neck ; and withal he lost his 
stirrups, and then let go his arms, and the mulé, frightcncd 
at the drcadful blow, bcgan to gallop aboui the pbin, and 
with a few plunges threw her rider to the ground. Don 
Quixote stood looking on very composedly, and whcn he 
saw his enemy fáll he leapt from his borse, and, running up 
with great agihty, clapt the point of his sword belween the 
Biscayan's cycs, biddíng him yicid or he would cut off his 
head. The Biscayan was so siimned tliat he was unable to 
answer a word, and ¡t would have farcd ¡11 with him, — so 
blinded with rage was Don Quixoic,— if the bdics of the 
coach, who till then had looked on at the ílghi in great 
terror, had not run lo the spot, aiid with much earnejtness 
besought the Kníght to graiit them tlie great kindneí3 and 
liíi 



CHAP. 9 



Don Ouixote 



fevour to spare their squire's Kfe. To which request Don 
Quixote responded, with much stateliness and gravity : — 
Assuredly, beauteous ladies, I am very well content to do 
what you ask me ; but it must be upon one condition and 
stipulation, which is that this Kníght shall promise me to 
go to the town of El Toboso, and present himself from me 
before the peerless Doña Dulcinea, that she may deal with 
him according to her pleasure. 

The trembling and distressñil ladies, without consideríng 
what it was that Don Quixote required, and without asking' 
who Dulcinea might be, promised him that the squire should 
do all that he had commanded. 

— Then, on the feith of that pledge, said Don Quixote, 
I will do him no other hurt, though he has well meríted it 
of me. 



119 



CHAPTER X 

Ofthe plfaiati íonfibuiation xv/iick paiied trtwttn i 
^uixole and Sancha PanzUy hts sfuirt^ 

Before this Sanchu was up again, after bcing somewhat 
roughiy handjed by tbe friars' attendants, and had siood 
watching the combat in which Don Quixow was cngaged, 
oJFering up prayers to God in his hcart that He might be 
pleased to givc his master the victory, and that out of ít he 
himself might win some Isle of whicb he could be governor, 
as had becn promiscd him. Sceing the cuntcst now at an 
cnd, and his master about to remounl Rozinanle, Sancho nui 
to hold his slirnip, and, before he mounied, knelt down 
bcFore him, and, seíiiing him by the hand, kisscd it,* and 
said : 

— Let your worship be pleased, my dear k>rd Don 
Quixoie, lo give me ihe government of the Isle which has 
becn won in thís tough battle ; íbr^ however bíg it is, ] feel 
myself strong enougli to govern it as well as the best iliit 
have governed Isles in ihc world. 

' In Ihr orígioal cditiont the epígriplí lo tta» <hipt«[ na : — 0/ aiai JiaHw 
Ju-ffmd K Dun S^lnn wr» tía Biiiofm, má ,ftit fail m wüiik Ái/amá limldf 
tnui m anod ef Timpiikiiu, Dut ihc idvcninre with th( Báciyui havini tecn 
mded in Üie dupln frcaéiof, ind the pciil wUh ihe Vvigueiini occunjag In 
cb. xv„ ilie Spiniíh Actilemy, io Iti ñnt «diiion, ibinged Ihr heiiliog to ttw 

mirle of ntpta uiil grililailt im<^ne tliur who hȇ hm bHnendcd or rsUtiMri 
by Knighu Etrinl in Ihe chivilric ramuiCM. 
120 



»f. .0 Don Ouixote 



íhich Don Quixote made reply : — Brother Sancho, 
observe that this adventure and those similar to \t are noi 
adventurcs of Isles but of cross-roads, in which nothing else 
h wan than a broken hcad or thc loss of an car. Havc 
patience, for adveniures will present themselves whereby I 
can matee thec not only governor, but something yet higher. 

Sancho thanked him heartily, and, kissíng his hand once 
again as well as the hem of his coat, helped him to mount ■ 
Rozinante ; and he himself, gettmg on his ass, followed his 
master ; who, riding at a brisk pace, without taking leavc of 
the bdíes ¡n the coach or saying a word more to them, 
turned into a wood hard by. Sancho followed him at his 
ass's best trot, but Rozinante travelled so fest that, secíng 
himseif left behind, he was obÜged to cali out to his master 
to wait for him. This Don Quixote did, reining in Rozin- 
ante untii his tired squire overtook him, who said, on 
coming up : 

— Methinks, Sir, it would be prudent in us to retire into 
íome church, for as he with whom yon fought is in bad case, 
I shOuld not wonder if they gave noticc of thc affair to the 
Holy Brotherhood,' and take us up ; and, feith, if they do 
so, we shail sweat our tails ^ before we come out of gaol. 

— Peace, quolh Don Quixote. And wherc hast thou 
cver sccn or rcad that Knight Errant has bcen brought 
before justice, however many the homicides he may have 
committcd ? 

> La Sjxu Uni-uniLJ, the floly Biothnhood, of which ínitilnCion wc iball 
a thc couiM of ihc noty, wu i pcripstetie tribuDal, ñnt atibliihed 
».. u...lr«nüi tcnliu;, taá nvivul by FcrdinoiKl uid lubtlli in thc ytu 
6t tar thc pfoKcntMjA, irLal, uid lunurury puaúhmrot of otfimcn mm- 
tid on thc hi|hniádi ind wlldcr diitricu of Spain. Ii »úttd, wíib hiiim 
iHficJliMU, ín Ui( lime af Crrvantci, who icen» not t» hivc thoughl 
JNly oT Itt iflicicy. 

[■ Na U ii oáar li lüft—" we «hill tweit thr brnih," would be morr lílml, 
I uKcUüy 4 toi't bruih. Thr phruc li itcrivcd from thc bunlisK^ 



Don Ouixote 



— I know nothing oí your arntcHh^ rq>licd Sancho, ñor 
in all my life did I cicr Iry one. I only know that thc Holy 
Brothcrhood docs busincss with üiose whu üglit ín Uic opcn, 
and I meddle not in thai othcr mattcr, 

^Be not troubicd, fricnd, said Dun Quixote, ft>r I will 
rcscuc ihce out of thc hands of thc Ch^deans, much morr 
oul of thosc of the Brolherhood. But icU me, on thy lile, 
hast seen more valiant Knight tban I am Ín all thc known 
carth ^ Hast rcad in histories of anotlier who has, or cver 
had, more spirít in thc setting on, or more wind in the hold- 
ing out ; more addrcss in ihe wounding ; more skill in the 
overthrowing ? 

— The truth ¡s, responded Sancho, that I have never read 
any hístory soever ¡ for I can neithcr rcad ñor write. But 
what I will daré wagcr is, that a boldcr mastcr than your 
worship I have never served ¡n all the days of my ttte, and 
please God these bolUnesses be not paid for where I have 
said ! What I besecch your worship Ís to let yourself , 
aitended lo, for you are k»ing a deal of blood from 
and I have got lint and a little white ointmeni bere n 
wallcts. 

— Atl this would have been imneccssary, amwercd Don 
(Quixote, had I remembered to makt- a phíal of the Balsaní 
of Fierabrás,* for, w¡th only one drop of it, both time and 
'medicines are saved. 

— Which phial and what balsam ís that ? askcd Sancho 
Panza. 

— It is a balsam, replica Don Quixote, of which 1 have 
thc recipe in my memory, with which one necd hsvc no ftar 



re 1 nave 
ourself ,hL 

lereñ^^^l 



Badén Und. Han 
"bodily daniigt." 
' The Baliun 
tom^Wti ¡o Spinic 
by Olivo, 
Fierumbn 



f Fiertbr» a ffcAra i 
bj Nicoiá* de FluDonle. 

Inlo ■ geod ChiHtiin. U< 



thc \tpaá of Cbirtemignr; 



Don Ouixote 



[ CHAT. I 

of tlcath, ñor think of perishing by any woond. So that 
whcn I have made ít and given ic to thee, thou wilt havc 
nothing more to do, when thou seesi that in some battie 
they have divided me through the middie, — as oft-times it 
¡a wont to happen, — than deftiy to talce up the portion of the 
body which is fallen to the ground, and with great subtlety, 
before the blood is congealed, clap ít upon the other half 
which retnains on the saddie ; takíng care to fix ¡t exactly in 
the right pbce. Then thou shalt g¡ve me to drink but two 
drops of the balsam I have mentioned, and shalt sce me 
retnain as sound as an apple.' 

— If that's so, said Panza, I renouncc from now tlie 
govcrnment of the promised Isle, and ask nothing clse in 
payment of many and good servíccs but that your worship 
give me the receipt of that matchless liquor ; for I daresay 
it will be worth anywhere more than two reals the ouncc, 
ñor nced I for more to pass this hfe respectably and comfort- 
ably. But Ict us know, now, if it costs much to make. 

— For lesB than three reals you can make more than two 
s of it, answered Don QuixoCe. 

— Sinner that I am ! repÜed Sancho ; then why does 
your worship delay making it and teaching me ? 

— Hush, fricnd, responded Don Quixote ; even greater 
■ecrcts I design to teach thee and do ihee greater favours. 
But fur ihe prcsent let us dress our wounds, for tfac car pains 
me more than I could wish, 

Sancho took from his wallets some lint and ointmenti 
but when Don Quixolc became aware that his helmet was 
broken, he had Hke to have lost his senses. Clapping his 
tunda to his sword, and lifting his eyes to Heaven, he cried : 

^ ThrTE >rc Runy cxBinpln in Ihe boolu oí fluch tciríblc blowi mflicted ía 
iklle, <ad of rccovuín no l™ marvclloui. Amailii of Orccce cutí ■ Knight 
«a^ froin ibc top of hü h 



Rlotido of MonulviD, witb a bock itraki of tí» ti 
n thmigh tb« middlie. So th« Cid ín th« rocm ic 
tlur honc of Alvtr Tttia by davini i Mnor Íd iwo. 






Don Ouixote 



— J swear an oath, by thc Crcator of all things, and by | 
the four Holy Gospcla, whcrein thcy are more fully set forih,' 
to lead the life whích was led by the greac Marquess of I 
Mantua, when he sworc lo rcvcngc the dt-ath of his nephew I 
Baldwin, — which was, iiot to ca( bread ai table,* ñor lie with [ 
his wít'c, and other things which, tiough I cannot reihembcr I 
them, I hold as hcre expressed, until 1 hai'c cxacted MI | 
ven g can ce on him who hath done me this outrage. 

Sancho, on bearíng these words, exclaimed : 

— Look, your worship, Sir Don Quixote,— if thc Knight I 
has complied with the ofder you gave hím, to go and pireseat I 
btniself betbre my lady Dulcinea del Xoboso^ he U'ill already I 
havc done his duty, and dcserves no other penalty unless he ] 
commits a new ofícnce. 

— Thou hast spoken and hit the marlc very we!l, answered I 
Don Quixotc, and, thereforc, I annul thc oath in résped to ! 

z 

ball 
Dcwi ID comb hti ha<r, to bniib hú bcud, to chuBge hü cbülft oc bb tí 





Kií-Í— 


l<t. " »bere¡n ít ii 


con: 


taincd man 


UrpW" 


— «corUDí 


ion formult ía Ifpl < 


iocumc 


ínti, by «hich (hi 


■ P" 


■on .¡«ktae «om 


thit hE « 


rill not .Idp to p»nlc 


uUriK, 


, Init ii coDlcnl lo 




it Iht dced 


wbotiU 


follAniiü 


1 are givtti. 












• A%í, 


mrr /una m-Otla— 


Ut."D 


,01 to Mt bre«a ( 




taUtcloth' 




fiUt— . £ 


DOinon form t>f adji 


aration 


imong ttie heron of chívik)'. 


In die 


ballia, (ht 


■ Mir>¡uui of M»nluí 


1. whtT 


1 hr (óimd hi) » 


tphr 


ir Bildoin 


mortiUy 


«oundcd 1 


1 thc for»I. iworc-- 
Hot 


—por 
SinU 


Dio.podcfíw. 
M>rU lu mtin. 









on Carloto (Donn, i 



:d wuh himtelt ñor to al ■! i*ble, till he hid tiícB A 
.i). Mon 



Femando, declara ihat o king who will aol do JurIr ihoold « 



Thi'i iiil B evidenlly tbe pimgE whidí Ccrvinta hid 
(om of wordi ii one commoa lo Buny aí thc hillidi. 
"4 



Don Ouixote 



what relates to exacdng from him frcsh vengeance ; but I 
malee and conñrm it anew, to kad the life oí whích I have 
spolcen, until sudí time as I have caken by forcé another such 
aod as good helmet as this from some Knight ; and thou 
must noi think, Sancho, ihat I take this oaih as mere smolce 
of siniw i ' for I know wcL whom I imítate herein, sincc 
the very same thing to the leiter passed about che casque of 
Mambrino, which cost Sacripante so dcar,^ 

— Let your worshíp give such oaths to the Devil, dear 

Sir, replicd Sancho ; for they do much mischief to one's 

bcalth and much damage to one's conscience. But tell me, 

now — \f by chance we do not come across a man armed 

with a hclmet these maiiy days, what shall we do ! Has the 

oaih to be kept despite of the many in conven ieiices and dis- 

comfbrts there will be in slccping all clothedj and not lying 

ín an inhabited place, and a thousand olher penances which 

were conlaincd in the oath of that oíd madman, the Marquess 

of Mantua, which your worship would now revive ? Do but 

sider that along all these woods no armed men travcl, 

mly carn'ers and carters, who not only wear no heimets, bul 

Brhaps never heard them namcd in all the days of thcir Iife. 

— Thou art mistaken in this, said Don Quixote, for we 

¡1 not have been two hours on these cross-roads before we 

tell see more armed men than went up against Albraca for 

r winning of Angélica the Fair.' 

— Wcll thcn, 80 be it, quoth Sancho, and God send that 
: come wcll out of it, and that the time may come for 
intng that Ule which is costing me so dear ¡ and then let 
me die. 

■ j/iiemA ftjet — 11 1 Mogotno wcighl, ora Inniienl word. 

Don {¿ajiole blundcn <n hii dútractian. It wii Dardincl de Almonte 
n Mimtnino'i helnvt csit ladaí (ArÍDalo, (hUnJe Furias, áí. iviií. it. ijt, 

h), Of MnnhilDo't helnul man will be uíd ia itic qdic lo ch. tú. 
' Albtca wai i very itrnng fonns m tlie fiírthat pravince a( Cilhsy, 
Wbat GiUfron, \bt ftlber uf Ad|(Íiu the F*>i, rdgnnf. The itbtíaa of ll« 
musi liDiu whidí, aaia ihe cenunind of Agrian, Kiog of Tutiry, cune 
125 



Don Ouixote 



— I have already told ihee, Sancho, not lo gíve thyself 
any concern about ihai, for if an Isle sbouM iáil, (here is the 
Kingdom of Denmark, or tbaí of Sobradisa,* whích shall ftt 
thce as a ring the fingcr, and more by token they are trrra 
firma thou sliouldsc be the happier. But let us Icave üiís lo 
time, and look if thou hast aught in ihine waíicts which we 
may eat, for soon we go in search of some castle wbere we 
may lodge to-night, and makc for ourselves the balsam of 
which 1 have spoken ; for by Hcavcn I vow to thce thÍ8 car 
of mine pains me greatiy. 

— I have got here an onion and a bit of chcesc, and a icw 
scraps of bread, said Sancho, but they are not victuals fit fbr 
a valianc Knight likc your worship, 

— How ill thou comprchendest the matter ! answercd 
Don Quixote. I would have thee know, Sancho, that it ísan 
honour in Knights Errant not to eat once in a month ¡ and, 
when they do eat, of that which they find ncarcst to hand, 
and this thou mightest have ascertained hadsi thou rcad «s 
many histories as I have ; for although they have been very 
many, in none of them have I found mention madc of what 
the Knights Errant ate, unless il were casualty and at somc 
of the sumptuous banquets given thcm ; and tbc rcmaindcr 
of their days ihey hved upon flowers.' And though it is to 

BgiÍDit Albnca lo obtnia pniiotioii of the fiii Angélica, Ibniu 
•uififct of the ñnl Ivialc of Boijrdo't poem of Ottaxiii luxamrot. 

When Agricao with lU )iú nurthem powtn 

Bctiegrd Albncca, u roiuuin) tcll, 

The cíty a{ GallaphrDDe, from theoct ta wíd 

The riircit of btr «ct, Angeliei. 

ParaMu Hii^intÁ, bk. iii. 

* or the kingdomi of Díaimarca uid Sobradiu thtrc a much mentiuc 
^Kaáh. Sobndiit, whrch "marche! wiih SeroUi," fali nenr beeo iitentiGcd. 
It wu the IciRgdam af which Don Gilaor cune to be Iciag, by hit niim>[g I 
wHh tbc Gút Snolaaii. > 

* & hi fauiún n filfa — thit ii, they lired apon ihíngí of little labituice. — 
Aowcn being opjHMfiJ to fniit) g — "herba and rostí." tayí Shcltno ; not, M ■ 
modcni trBDal*iDr hu íl, "they piwcd thdr lime Íd ditUoDcc," but tltt cootnry. I 

n6 



. lo Don Quixote 



desii 



be understood that they couid not subsist wi'thout eating, and 
íulñlling all the other necessiiies of iiature, — for in effect they 
were mcn lilte ourselves,- — it must be presumed also that, 
wandcring about as they did the most of their time in fbrests 
and dcscrts, and without a cook, iheir most usual dinncr 
would be of rustical viands, such as now thou ofTerest me. 
Thcreforc, friend Sancho, frct not thyself as to what pleases 
me, ñor secJc to makc a ncw world, nor take Knight 
Errantry off its hinges. 

— Pardon me, Sir, said Sancho, for since I can ncither read 
nor write, as I have already told you, i am not acquainted 
with the rules of the Knightty calting, and so hereafter I 
will store my wallets with all aorta of dried fruits for your 
worship, who are a Knight ; and for me, who am nothing of 
the sort, 1 will provide for myself things that fly and of 
more substancc.^ 

— I do not say, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, that ít is 
obligaiory on Knights Errant to eat nothing else than those 
fruits of which thou speakest, but that of them was their 
ordinary diet, and of certain hcrbs which they found in the 
ficlds, which they knew of and 1 also know.* 

— It ¡a good to Imow thcse hcrbs, Sancho replied, for I 
am thinking some day we shall need to use that know- 
ledge. 

Thcrcupon pulling out that which he said he had, the 
two fell to dinner in good peace and company. But, being 
desirous to look out a lodging for that night, they shortcned 
r mcagre and sorry meal, mounted at once on horseback, 
made haste to reach some inhabited place bcfore night- 
But the sun and the hope of attaining their dcsíre both 
Icd them togethcr near some goatherds' cabins ; and so 
they determincd to pass the night there ; and it was as mucb 



> Culi vtlaliltij ái nut I 

* So Anhur ef Alprvt, windcting ibonl 



)d ce herí» tai loou (O/ñn 



1 it CainlU, <h. Iv.]. 



It of chickcc, pij 
vilkya ini! hilli ■ 




Don Ouixote 



to Sancho's dístress oot to rcach a village as it was to bis 
master's delight to skep under the open skjr, for it seemed to 
him that evay time thís happcncd he was perfomüng ui act 
of posscssion * to confinn his citle to Knighthcxxi. 



ID ukiaf poMctóon — 



CHAPTER XI 



0/whal happentd ta Dan ^uixote vjllh cerlain 
Gaatherds 



root 



welcomed by the goatherds very cordially, and 
Sancho, having put up Rózínante and his ass as best lic 
could, made his way towards the smcll gíven out by certain 
pjeces of goat's flesh which were boiling in a pot on ihe fire ; 
and (hough he longcd at that instant to see if they were 
ready to be iransferred from the pot to his stomach, he 
refrained from doing so, for the goathcrds took tbcm oíF the 
fire, and, spreading some sheep-skins on the ground, laid in a 
trice thcir rustic table, and, with many expressions of goodwill, 
invitcd the two to share in what they had. Six of them who 
were of the fold sai round on the skins, having first with 
rough complimciits bcsought Don Quixotc to seat himself 
upon Á irough, which they placed for him, turned upside 
down. Don Quixote sat down, but Sancho remaincd on 
foot to serve him the cup, which was made of horn. Seeing 
standing, bis mastcr said :— That thou mayst see, Sancho, 
good which is contained in Kníght Errantry, and how 
a chance ihcy havc who excrcise themselves in minister- 
ig aftcr any lashion thercto lo come shortly to be honoured 
md esleemed of the worid, I desire that herc by my sidc, and 
n company of thcse good pcoplc, thou seat thyself, and be 



r and i 



ral 



c and the same with me that am thy r 
1, and eat of my dish and drink of the cup from which 1 



Don Quixote 



(Irínk i for of Knighi Errantry may be saíd the same 
Lovc, that it levéis all things. 

— Gramcrcy for your fávour ! cried Sancho ; but I 
tell your worship that, províded 1 had pleniy to eat, I could 
cat it as wcll, and beticr, standing, and by myself, than if I 
were seatcd on a level with an Emperor ; and, indeed, if 1 
musí spcalc the truth, I rcHsh much more what I eat in my 
comer without niceties or ccremonics, ihough it be but bread 
and onion, than turkey-cocks at other tables where I am 
forced to chew slowly, drink litlle, wipe myself oftcn, neither 
sneeze ñor cough when 1 havc a mind to, nor do other 
things which solitude and tíbercy allow. Thcrcfore, good 
master, those honours which your worship would put upon 
me for being a servan! and fbllower of Knight Errantry, m 
I am, being squire to your worship,— changc them for other 
things which may be of more advantage and profit to me i 
for thesc, ihough I hold them as received in ñill, I renounce 
from hcre to the end of the world, 

— For ail that, said Don Quixote, thou musí sit duwn, 
for him who humbleth himself God cxalteth. — And, 
seizing him by ihe arm, he forced him to be seaied near 
himself. 

The goatherils did not under^tand that jargon of squircs 
and Knights Errant ; and did nothing but cat, hold their 
peace, and stare al their guests, who, with a good gracc and 
relish, were gorging themselves with pieces as big as their 
fists. The course of meat being over, tJ)ey spread upon the 
skins a great number of parched acorns,' and placed by them 
hatf a checse, harder than if it had been madc of moriar. 
The horn, in the meantime, was not idle, for it wcnt round 
so often, now full, now empty, like buckcts in a waicr- 

of Eitrcmidun on which 
% hinii, are niU u nticlc 
's of Plitiy. Tbej iic ÜU 



Don Ouixote 



wbeel,' that it easijy emptied one of the Iwo wine-skins 
which hung in view. 

After Don Quixote had well satisfied his stomach, he 
took up a handful of acorns, and, gazing on them intcntly, 
gave loóse to his voicc in the foltowing strain : ^ 

— Happy age and happy times, those whereon the ancicnts 
bestowed che ñame oF golden, not because ín them gold, so 
highiy esteemcd in chis our age of iron, was in that fortúnate 
lime acquired without toil, but rather because those wbo 
h'ved ihcrcin were ínnocent of those two words, thine and 
miif! In that holy age all things were in common ; no 
man, to get his ordínary sustenance, needcd to take any other 
trouble than to lift his hand and pluck ii from the sturdy 
oaks, which stood freeiy inviting him with theír sweet and' 
savouty fruit. The clear streams and running rivers offered 
him, in magnificeni abundancc, their delicious and ümpid 
wattrs. In the clefts of rocks and in the bollows of the 
trees the careful and discreet bees buill up tbeir common- 
wealtb, presenting to every hand without usancc the fruiíful 
Crop of their fragrant toil. The robust cork-trees did ihed of 
themselves, without other art than that of their courtesy, 
ihcir light and ampie rinds wherewith men did first cover 
their houses, supporled upon rude pales, for no other end 
than as a dcfcncc against the inclemency of the sky. All 
was peacc then, all amity, all concord. As yet the painful 
share of tbc cruoked plough had not dared to opcn and search 

' CoM «TM^n Jt uria i arcaduz bota ajuitJiicnií. Nuria, the word u the 
üiing, i* tht (Dcient ÜrkiUal water-whecl — the Egyptíui littíjti — «tíll ín uie 
ta Sp«K u in the tul, Soi ifrjwing wMer from ■ welL 

* Thá punfC, > modtl ef batinDiUDQi, wcll-mciiurcd diction, in Ihe original, 
¡I ^noltil in tmy Spanith cUo-boolc u ooc of the choicat •pecimis» of üic 
bngoap. Foi tjie idcj, kc Oviii, Miumrpkata, lib. i,, (lio TuHi'i Ammit, 
Aft I. Compue lUo iIk vllioo of the Silurniin igc in the Fourlh EcloEUe ol 
VirtU- Tomrdi the eod, Ccrvintu einnot rtiiit the lemplition of glidioi; 
(iom htíoiu and \aftf eliXjueace ialo burlcaijue. which, in the moulfa of i 
m»*nnn. I» budlf ■ fiult, eitbir ni in ot ín tute. 

■3' 



Don Quixote 



the compassionate bourels oí our firet mothcr, who, without 
compulsión, yieldcd frotn every part of hcr fercilc and ípacious 
bosom whatever could sattsfy, sustain, and delight the 
children who then posscsscd hcr. Then verily did the 
innocent and lovely shepherdcsses roatn í'rom dale to dale 
and iTom hit! to hill, declccd with their tresses alone, and 
with no more apparel than was necessary to cover modcstly 
what modesty requires,and hasalwaya required, to be covered. 
Ñor were their atlircs such as those which are in fáshion to- 
day, heigh tened by purple of Tyre and silk torturcd in num- 
berless ways, but Icaves of greco burdock and ivy íatcrtwined, 
in which, perhaps, they went as proudly and as dccently 
arrayed as our court dames now, with their rare and ouilandish 
inventions whích wanton curiosity has discovered. Then 
the lovc-thoughts of ihc soul were decked' simply and 
artiessly ¡n the same fashion and manner as the soul conceived 
them, ñor sought an artificial turn of words to enhance their 
valué. Ñor had fraud, deceit, or matice minglcd with truth 
and sincerity. Justice pursued hcr own proper ends without 
being disturbed by fevour or interest, which now so greatly 
impair, disturb, and persecute hcr. As yet arbitrary law * was 
not seated in the mind of the judgc, for then there were none 
to judge or be judged. Maidens and innocency went about, as 
T have said, whithcr they would, single and sohiary, without 
fear ihat stranger licensc and lascivious assault would hann 
them i and their undoíng carne of their own will and 
pleasure. But now, in this our hateful age, no maiden is salé 
cven though another labyrinth likc ihat of Cretc should dosc 

' Bolh Clcmcncin and HirUcubtiich find fiíull heie wilh the tuding o 
Aísraian — ttic (onaer nggdtiag thal lh( wofd ttiouU be áiJjrtttn, tnd tbr 
lilKr printÍDg i[ u in the tat, with hit niml luriicity. 1 m Da nuon wlut- 
evcr for miking iny cfaange and preür la ibide by ihc «cujitcd mdinKi wbicb 
tnika goad kok bothia Spaniíh and in GngUib. 

* La di¡ Butji — lit. " the bw af tht grnove " — eipliíned by Covarmbi» 10 
nugn the law which ii not wiiitCD, but «tiied in tbe judgi'* had— 4a fai 
uccutcd, though ODl dtpFíitleni oa tent or itoclor. 

132 



Don Ouixote 



and conceal her ; for there, througfa crannics or ihrough ihc 
air, by the prícking of accursed solicitation, tlie amorous 
plague entera and sends chcm to wreclc with all thcir cioseness. 
For whose protcction, as times rolled on and wíckedncss 
increased, was institutcd thc order of Knight Errant, for 
tlie dcfcnding of maidens, the relieving of widows, and the 
succouring of the fatherless and the distressed. Of ihis 
order am I, brother goathcrds, whom Í thanlc for the good 
chccr and reception which ye have given to me and to my 
squire ; for although by che law of nattirc a¡l líving are 
bound to fávour Knights Errant, yet seeing that wichout 

^lc^owing of this obligation ye have received and entenaíned 
me, it is ríght that wíth all possible goodwiil 1 should 
icknowledge yours. 
All this long harangue, which might very well have been 
spared, our Kníght pronounced because thc acorns with 
which they served him recallcd to his mind the age of gold j 
and the fancy seizcd him to delivcr ih¡s vain discourse to the 
goathcrds, who stood listeiiing to him ágape and bcwildered 
withoui answering a word. Sancho likewise held his tongue 
and ate acorns, paying frequcnt vísics to the second wine- 
íltin, which, in order that ihe wine might be coo!, they had 
hung on a cork-tree. Don Quixote spent more líme in 
talking than in despatchjng his supper, which, being ended, 
e of the goathcrds said ;— Sír Knight Errant, in order that 
«)iir worship may say with more truth that weentcrtain you 
rith a prompt and hcarty goodwül, we would give you solace 
ind contcnt by making onc of our mates sing, who will prc- 
^n^ly be here, who is a swairt very wcll instructed and much 
i lovc, and who, above all, knows how to rcad and write, 
ind playa upon a rcbcck,' so that ihere is nought to desíre. 

utrd by «híplicrili in Ihe time of CcrviDtti, 
rtth thiw itrings Iiuilmf with i fmall bow. Il wu of Moutiih nrijin, u 
I jndiain, tni wai at nne limí' in higb fi'bion iI Cnurt. For ■ 
plliw Kt Den Juiri .ir Kiaiü'i E^rfy :i^m,* Mm.t. p, llt. 



[• El ¡I «álkd lUtt. 



'33 



y 



Don Quixote 



Scarcc had the goathcrd done speaking when the sound 
or a rcbeck reached their can, and presenily ihcre caine up 
he who played it, who was a veiy good-looking youih of 
aboui two-and-iwcnly. His comradcs asked him if he had 
suppcd, and, on his answeríng^ri, he who had paid bim those 
compliments said : — In that case, Antonio, thou mayst well 
give US the pleasure of hcaring thee sing a littlc, in ordcr that 
this noble guest whom we have here may see that even among 
the forcsts and mountains thcre are they who know somcthíng 
of music. We have told him of thy good abilities, and we 
wish thce to show them and prove us truc mcn. And ao I 
cntreat thee on thy tife to 5Ít down and sing the song of thy 
love, whtch was coniposed by thine unclc the prícst, and 
which is so much liked in our village. 

— I shaJl be glad, responded the youth ; and, without 
furthcr entreaty, he sat himself upon the trunk of a fallen 
oak, and, tuning his rcbeck, presently commenced to síng, 
with a vcry good grace, after che following n 



ANTONIO 

Thou lovcsc me, I know, Olalla, 

Though thou hast not told me k> 
Evcn with thinc eycs a lítele, — 

Mute tongues that love do ihotfa | 
I'm sure that thou dost know it. 

So I my love do own. 
Por ne'er was love unhappy 

That to the loved wis known. 
Though ever and «non, OUUi, 

Truc, it 15, thou makcst me fcel 



' Thu, the fint, ind nol iht woTtt, of the poeticil píeet» iacti 
linx, i> ■ tpHÍmm of aat of Üw úaipler tuiüc tslUii dittia. tno 
i papulir in Spain ihin ihe balti'Jl iherntelmi. Both critlo ani 
re been hard on Antaalo'i ditl;. vihích nad not te xtM tciioiiilr li 

■3+ 



Don Ouixote 

That thy bosom ¡5 of granice, 
And thy heart as hard as sccci. 

But uaidsc thy coy rcproaches. 
And thy modest crudcy, 

Hope «ometimM i litcle córner 
Of her vcsture leti me see. 



On the lure my fealty pouncing, 

Likc hawk oa t^uarty í«zm ; 
My foith, which scorn ne'cr les«ens. 

Ñor encDuragement increaseí ; 
Since love is but a kindness, 

In ihine l'm glad co live, 
For the end of hopes I'vc cheríshcd 

Must be such as I conceive. 
If it be thal faithful scrvicc 

Move thy hcarc lo charíiy, 
Sure the ducy I have paid thee 

My claim must foitiíy. 

Fot my fair one muse have naicd, 

I have dressed me on the Monday, 
More than once, lo do her honour, 

With my suit that's made for Sunday ; 
Por lince thit lovc and spruceness 

Go ilong the sclf-same way, 
Iii ihine cyei I've wished that ever 

I should look gallaní and gay. 
Nou^t ril say about the dances, 

Of the carols for thy sake 
Which till cock-crow I've sung thee 

Through the night unlíl daybrcak. 

ni noi tell how oft thy bcauty. 
And hovr loudly I've admired. 

Por the praises, ihough all truc, made 
Me by othcr girls abhorred. 

I3S 



Don Ouixote 

There's Teresa of the Berrocal. 

WlieD I wai praising thee, <]uoih the, 
"One wouldthinlc you woo'd an angcl — 

'TÍ5 a monkey foolittg thcc. 
Thanks lo hcr store of gcw-gaws, 

To her borrowed locks of hair, 
To her couDterfeited beautiei, 

Wtiich mighc Cupid's self entaire." 

'Twai a lie, I said, and, angercd, 

To hcr couiin ihcn 1 lurncd, 
I defied him — whai he did and 

Whit I did [O him you've Ictraed. 
Ñor wamonly 1 love thee, 

Ñor serve thee to procure 
Thee for my lemán Icwdly, 

Por my purpoac h raorc puré. 
Pettcrs ^ hath the Churcb of silken 

Cord, irue lovers fast to join ; 
Put [hy neck within the yotc, swcet, 

In a trice ihou'li see thcre mine. 
If not so, by all chat's holy, 

Here 1 swcar a solemn vow, 
From thcsc mountaina !'l! not stif til! 

For a Capuchin 7 go. 

With this the goatherd cnded tus song, and, although 
Don Qiibíotc besought him to síng somethíng more, Sancho 
was not of that mind, for he was more for sleeping than 
hearing dílties, and so said to his master :^Your worship 
had best arrangc at once whcre you are to pass this night, for 
the work which these good men do all the day long does not 
suffer them to pass the nights in singing. 

— I understand thee, Sancho, answered Don Quixotc ; 

> Crpmidi. AaiomD'i phntci m iiilliclcatl} grov. Cr^uaJt- ii tlie lUtp ai 
Inther or cord b; which i piír of oxen at jmked in * teun. 

136 



CHAP. II 



Don Ouixote 



for I perceive clearly that thy visits to the wine-skin demand 
requital in sleep rather than in music. 

— To all of US it tasted well, blessed be God, replied 
Sancho. 

— I do not deny it, answered Don Quixote ; dispose of 
thyself as thou pleasest ; to those of my profession it is more 
becoming to watch than to sleep ; but withal it were well, 
Sancho, for thee once more to dress this ear of mine, for it is 
paining me more than is necessary. 

Sancho did as he was ordered, when one of the goatherds, 
seeing the wound, told him not to trouble himself, for he 
would apply a remedy which would readily heal it ; and 
taking some leaves of rosemary, which about there was in 
plenty, he chewed them, and mixing them with a little salt 
and applying them to the ear, boimd it up firmly, assuríng 
the Knight that he would need no other medicine ; and this 
proved to be true. 



137 



CHAPTER XII 

Ofwhal a Goatherd told those wke viere wilh Dut ^mntt 

While ihey wcre thus cngaged, there came up anoihcr 
youth, one of those who used to bring them their provender 
from the viilage, — Comradcs, cricd he, do you know wlut ís 
going on in thc town ? 

— How should we know ? answcred one of them. 

— Learn, ihen, concinued thc youth, that this morning 
died that famoua shephcrd-^tudent caÜed Chrysostom, and 
it is rumoured that he died for love of that devil of a girl 
Marcela, the daughter of William the Rích, she who goes 
about thesc parts in the dress of a shcpherdess. 

— For Marcela, sayest thou ? asked one. 

— For her, I say, rcturned the goatherd, and thc best of 
it Í3 that he has directed in his will that they should bury him 
in thc fietds likc a Moor, and that it should be at the foot of 
thc rock where thc spring is, by the cork-tret, because the 
report is,— and they declare that he saíd so,^ — that was thc 
place where he saw her for the first time. And he abo Icft 
orders about olher things, such as the priests say cannot be 
done ; ñor ¡s it right they should, for they seem to be 
heathenish. To all whích his great friend Ambrosio replies, 
the student who like him also went dressed as a shcpherd, 
that everything must be done without fail as Chrysostom 
had ordered, and about this the whole viilage ¡s ¡n an uproar ; 
though, from what they say, in thc cnd all will be done that 




Don Ouixote 



Ambrosio and the shepherds his friends desíre ; asid to- 
morrow they are coming to bury him with great pomp where 
I said ; and, on my word, it w¡ll be a ihing worth seeing. 

ti, 3t ieast, shail not faíE to go and see ¡t, even ihough I 
ibould not be ablc to gct back to the village to-morrow. 
— Wc will all do the same, answered the goatherds, and 
casi lots who shali stay to take care of all our goats. 
— Xhoü saycst well, Peter, said one, though there will be 
no need to taíce that trouble, for I will stay behind for all ) 
and do not set ít down to any merit or lacle of curiosity in 
me, but to the splínter which the othcr day ran into my foot 
and Iceeps me from walking. 
^^t — For all that, we thank thee, answered Peter. 
^^H Don Quixote asked Peter to tell him who that dead man 
^^Bns, and who the shephcrdcss ; to which Peter replied, that 
all he knew was that the dead man was a rich gentleman who 
dweit in a village in those mountaíns, who had been studying 
at Salamanca many years, at the end of which he returned to 
his village with the repute of being very clever and well rcad. 
They said, especially, that he knew the science of the stars, 
and whal the sun and moon are doíng up there in the sky, 
fiír he told US exactly of the crease ' of the sun and moon. 

— Eclipse it is called, friend, and not crtait — the obscura- 
tion of those two greater luminaries, said Don Quixote. 
■l But Peter, stopping not at these trivíahties, continued his 
^^btory, saying: — He likewise predicted if the year would be 
^Vfruitfiíl or stale.* 

^^ - — StíríU thou wouldst say, fricnd, observed Don Quixote. 

— Sterile or atole, it is all the same in the end, answered 

Peter ; and I say that, with what he told thcm, his fáther 

I friends, who bclicved him, became very rich, for they 

* Ei irii Jd tU — My* Peto, bóng b gailhctd ind no gicit icholai, fór (/ 
B-il, uyt Ihe blun<)cting niitic. I ha«c rfndcred ÍE m b«t ( 



Don Ouixote 



ái¿ what he adviscd, bídtlíng thcm chis year sow lurler, not 
wheai ; this yar you can sow pulse,* and not barley ; the 
next wiil be a full crop oí oi) ;* the three folUyirins they 
will not get a drop. 

— This science is called Aitrohgy,* said Don Quinóte. 

— I don't know how It is callcd, replíed Pcicr, but I 
Icnow thai he knew atl this and more loo. To malee an 
cnd j not many monihs had passed aftcr he carne from 
Salamanca, when one day be appeared dressed like a shepherd 
wich his CTook and his shecpskin, baving put off ihc long 
coats which he used to wcar as a studcnt, and joinily witb 
hitn was dressed another like a shcpherd, his great friend 
Ambrosio bv ñame, who had been his companion in bis 
studies. I forgot to tell you that Chrysostom, the dead, 
was a great man fbr composing verses, insomuch ihat he 
used to make the carob* for the cve of our Lord's biith, 

ctop <ll ¡¡ya thr «nth md eut of Spain, inii ont of the pri 
the piopk. protablj lo iuhcrítuicc (rom the Moon. Il ii 
Viriety of jT-am, oteé in lodia ehiefly u fooJ fot bina. 

* Gtiilii lU eiii't ; Guiiii, >n Atabíc impotiition. meaDÍag " rich hirml." 

' The progno«üc«tlon of cropt •« ín tíul agr ont of xhr fiinction» of the 
Ailrologer. CIcinindn qaotei a Vilcndan writer, GerónúnD Coilet, wba UTMt 
1 work cntillcd Nn Pin Ultra dd Laitant j fnniníta foftinc, ñm puUúbRl 
la 1598. in which i> givoi 1 lable toi the cilculitioo of httvetu, pIcuti/nL 
modérate, «nd «eanty, from 1 590 lo the eod of the world. 

• mUmHiai — at ihe nime denoln, wtre rnitíc longt, winetlina "too ll(ht 
In tbñr tone lo be religíoui," » Tíeknor tift, which were ning bf the boyi of 
the choir, Ktind u •hepherili, oD Chiíitnuí En (JVk<(i Bmmi) and Corput 
Chríiti. Al one time common Ihroughout Spiin, ind tootiouert .lown to 1 late 
period, tbey are noví diiuted eicept ín the caChedial of Seville, when the dancing 
and linging of the Uiyi, called Siim, befare the high altar, ia aliU kept up b 
■II Rale — the performeri being dretted ia lích, fintMtic eoitumet. They ut 
•DppMed to repretenl the ihepherd) of Bcthlehem. Ttie iradlllan ii Iliil one 
□f the Popel oriiered the tonction to be aboliabed, al calrnlated to brin( tcvidd 
oa religión j but at the entreity of Üie ArchUihop agmd thit ihcy «hooM 
continué *> long aa the dreuet laated. Since then Ue SnlUupi ha*a tallM 






cate (bit the iii 
il 1 kinrf of m 



» ahall be iver 
et, which the p 



Don Ouixote 



and thc plays' for Corpus Christi, which the lads of our 
viltagc pbyed ín, and everybody sa.Íd they were lip-top. 
Whcn the vilbgere saw the two studcnts thus ofasudden 
dressed out as shepherds, they were astonished and could noi 
guess what had led them to malee so strange a transformation, 
About this time the father of our Chrysostom died, and he 
was left with a good deal of property, in goods as well as in 
lands, and no small quantíty of cattie and sheep, and a great 
sum of money, of all which the youth remained the dissolutc* 
owner ; and, ¡n truth, he dcserved it aJ], for he was a very 
good fellow and a charitabíe, and a friend to the good, and 
he had a face like a blessing. By-and-by ¡t carne to be 
understood that hís changing his dress was for no other 
reason than that he míght roam about these wilds aftcr that 
shepherdess, Marcela, whom an herd mentíoned a while ago, 
with whom the poor dead Chrysostom was in love. And 
I will now tell you, for it is meet you should know it, who 
thxt wench ís, for tnayhap, — ayc, and without any hap,- 
ye wíU never have hcard of the hfce in all the days of your 
lifc:, though ye should live more days than Sarna.^ 

' í*itii — ihtK were teligioni fljys, or, at leut. playí on religioui (ubjccti, 

b«rbkh Ihcy gavc rile led to thcir luppiHiíon by ao cdict of ChaiIa III^ in 
CiMeroD wu ihe nioat fimoui of iboM who dedínied their gcniui lo 
ll (pecia of compoiiiion, lai amoag hü pby> ihe mm aic tbe bat, u they 
ji the mMt cbancteiutic, tpecimeiu of hit geiiiuf . 

• Dtuliin, uyi Pela-, fór dialalo, — Irippínj once miwe ovfr ihe fine wotd. 

I f Jlu tiSeí fw uriH — " mote jan tlian the iich," Hnu beiog tubtlitulnl 

— Sarah. Me¡ ^ai pii Sorra ú x proverb, citid tai eiplained by 

ivirraht», — the patriircb'i wife havuig livid to i hundied and ten. A reemí 

nililor hai made Píter't confotion wone confoundfd. by leiling di 

te who did Dot know it io Uut form. Th¡< explnnutioa d«ttay> 
fl Ili<^ paint of tLe puage. It ii true.that the Acidemy't Dldioniry quotet. 
ÚIBul giving any authoiily, iHt viíjc fu urna u i proverb, but ít Íi obviODi 
ihc olhn ú the old« and more corred rtading. I( í» lo givoi by Caro y 
□, tlie bat auihotity on Spiniíh provaba, «nd Í( ít M lucd by Cervant» 
If clMwhae, ia faii CúUlta. Whil ú probable ia that the new fonn, if ii 
wu in popular dh, w» talwn from tfaii paiuge of Dm Sjiímu, tná by 

141 



Don OuÍ5iote 



— Say Sara, reniarked Don Quixote, uiublc to bear the 
goathcrd's majiglíng oí worda. 

— The Sarna Uva long cnough, responded Petcr ; and, 
sir, ¡f you would have me go correciing my words at evcry 
step, we shall noC finish in a twcivemonth. ~~ 

— Pardun me, friend, saJd Don Quixoie, but I spolce to 
you because there was so much difFerence between Siriu 
and Sara ; but you have answcrcd vcry rightiy, fbr Sarna 
livcs longer than Sara ; and proceed with your history, for 
I will not interrupt you again. 

— -I say, thcn, my belovcd sir,^ continued thc goaiherd!, 
that in our village therc was a farmer even ríchcr ihan the 
(áther uf Cbrysostom, whosc name was William, to whom 
Goil gave, — over and above bis merit and grcat ríches, — a 
daughier, at whose bírth her mother died, who was thc 
most honoured woman in all that quarter. Methinics I see 
her now, with that tace of hecs which had tile sun on one 
sidc and thc moon on the other ; and, above al!, a rare 
manager and a triend of the poor { for which I bclieve that 
hcr soui should be at thís vcry momcnt enjoying oí God in 
the other world. For grief at thc deaih of so good a wifc, 
her husband William died, leaving his daughier Marcela, 



young 



^nd rich, in the keeping of an únele of hers, a priesi 



and the parson of our 
such beauty that it remii 
very great ; and still it 
would surpass it ¡ and so 

age of tourteen or fifte 



llage. The child grew up with 
ded US of her mother's, which was 

was thought that the daughter's 
¡I was that, when shc reached thc 
:n years, no nian bcheld her but 



blessed God who had made hcr so l^ir, und most men fel] 
enamoured and mad for bcr. Hcr únele guardcd her with 

way of joke. " Oldcr Ihan Sirih," ii atore líkeljr to be ihr vulpr aym¡ thin 
"oldcr Üiin Ihe i'tch." ^Ia^cBVer, Don QuUotc'i ialcmiption b rentaBd 
munínglcH and PcUr'i rrtoit uoiatelUgíblt, if m m to luppOM tlut «ai m^ 
fiii wnu ivu the oiígíiul mdiog. 

1 &Kr H» Jt mi tima — uyi PctM, filiog Dp hii (amplimenli UKUtídlly, 
uní of pique *t btmg correcud. 



Don Ouixote 



^' 



great care and doseness, but, iievertheicss, the fame of hcr 
great beauty spread so widely, that, as much for it as for 
hcr cxceeding riches, not only by those of our place, but 
by thosc from many leagues about, her únele was besought, 
' ilicited, and importuned to give her in marriage. Buf he, 
right good Chrístian, although he wished to marry 
ha soon, as he saw she was of age, would not do so without 
hcr consent,— not that he had any eye lo the advantage and 
proftt which the management of the girl's property brought 
him by delaying hcr marriage. And, in faith, this is said 
in praise of the good priest in more ihan one village circlc. 
For I would have you Icnow, Sir Errant, that in these small 
viUages ihey meddle with everything and chatter of evcry- 
thing ; and be you wcll assured, as I am, that a parson must 
be over and above good who makes bis parishioncrs speak 
well of hím, especially in the villages, 

— That is the truth, said Don Quixote j but go on, for 
(he story is a very good one, and you, good Peter, do tell 
it with a very good gracc. 

— May that of God never tail me, for ¡t is that malees 
to the purpose. And for the rest, you must Icnow (hat, 
although the únele set bcfore his niece and described to hcr 
the (]ualities of each particular one of the many who sought 
hcr for wife, urging her to marry and choose to her tastc, 
she never gave any answer but that she did not wísh to 
marry yet, and that being so young she did not feel herself 
ablc to bear the burden of wedlock. On account of thcse, 
which seemed to him to be just excuses, her únele Icft off 
urging hcr, and waitcd until she grew more ¡n years, and 
could know how to choose company to her own lilcing. 
For, said he, and he said very wcll, parents ought not to 
settie thdr children agaínsí their will. But, lo ! when no 
one expcctcd ¡t, the dainty Marcela appeared one day turned 
ithcpherdess, and, in spitc of hcr únele and of all in the 
vilkgc who dissuaded hcr, went away into the ficlds with 
•43 



Don Ouixote 



ihc othcr shepherdesses of the place, and took lo icnding 
herown ftock. And as she now carne out in publjc, and 
lier bcauty was opcnly seen, I could not weil tell you how 
inany rich youths, getitry and peasaniry, have uken to the 
habit of ChryBOstom, and go about courting hcr over thesc 
plains. One of thcsc, as I have told you, was oiir defunct, 
of wliom they said that from loving he look to adoríng her. 
And you must not think that becausc Marceb bemok hersclf 
to thaí freedom and Jifc so loóse, and of so little or no in- 
keeping, she has givcn any occasion, or cven the show of 
onc, that may go to the lowcring of her modesty and virtue ; 
nay, rathcr, so great is the watchfulness with which she 
looks after hcr honour, that of all those who serve and do 
her suit iiot one has boasted, ñor with truth can boast, that 
she has given him the leasi hopeof obtaining his ends. For 
though she does not fly ñor shun the company or converse 
of the shepherds, but treats them civil and friendly, upon 
any one of them approaching her to declare his intention, 
though il sho.uld be a propcr and holy one likc that of 
matrimony, she flings them off as with a catapult. And 
with ihis kind of tempcr she does more nnischief in this 
country than if the plague had got in it, for hcr afiábility 
and beauty draw on the hearts of thme who consort with 
hcr to sue and to love her, bul her scornfulness and plain- 
speaking tJrive them to the bounds of despair ; and so they 
know not what to say to hcr, biit loudly cali her cruel and 
unkind, with other ñames líke to these, which clearly show 
the naturt uf her disposttion ; and if you should remain 
liere, sir, awhile, yon would scc these hills and dales rcsound- 
ing with the bments of those luckless ones who ¡ue her, 
Not far from hcrc there ís a place where there are somc 
two doicn tall becches, and there is not one of them whoK 
smooth bark is not cut and scorcd with the ñame of Marcela, 
and on the top sometímcs a crown carvcB on the same, as 
though her lover would declare more plainly that Marcela 
144 ~ 



Don Ouixote 



wears and deserves the ctown of all human beauty. Hcre 
sighs onc swain, ihere moans another ; yonder you hear 
ditties of love ; hard by dirges of despair. One will pass 
wholc hours of thc night seated at the foot of 9omc oak or 
rock, and there, without having dosed his tearful cyes, rapt 
and bemused in his own fancies, the sun finds him in the 
morning ; and there wil! be another who, without giving 
time or respite to his sighs, stretched on the burning sand 
in the full heat of the raging summef noontide, sends up 
his plaints lo the pitiful Heavens ; and ovcr one and over 
I he other, over those and over these, the lovely Marcela 
iriutnphs, frcc and unconterned. A)l of us who know hcr 
are wailing to see what her haughtiness will cnd in, and 
who will be the lucky man who shall succeed in taming a 
naturc so terrible and in enjoying a bcauty so exceeding. 
All that I have relaled to you being well-known truth, I aro 
pcrsuadcd that what our rellow-herdsman has told us of the 
cause of Chrysostom's dcath is likewisc truc. And thereforc, 
sir, I advisc you not to fcii to bctake yourself to his funeral 
to-morrow, which will be well worth seeing, for Chrysostom 
had many friends ; and ¡t ¡s not half a league from herc to 
the spot where he dirccted them to bury him. 

— 1 will make it my carc, said Don Quixote ; and I am 
bcholdcn to you for thc pleasure you have given me by thc 

Jling of so agreeable a story.' 

—Oh, said the goatherd, I do not know cven the half 

F what has befallcn thc lovcrs of Marcela ; but it may be 

iiodc hii bccn the lubjcct of much muurr. Clcinencm dnliring 

H futfarrd iprik* too Bne for bú pQsíIion j vhilc an E|iftüh triDibior 

ilul ü |JUl in Sincho'i moulh, gboul P<t«> lojiucity, gnd adopM 

tnuilc iluul thc dnnutic impropricty of tuch a ipach, I agne 



h Don üuuou bi 


mtÜ, ibít Prt« 


nd hú iiory 


«1" 




jlning. Thc ni 


Titive í> in Caninez bnl tiyle. 


ull of lite tnd 




t what n «ithu 


iaitic tuitie 1 


d wo 


Id UH. aukiat 


bf Ih* .gí. íhí 


.co.^ ud the . 


cton. Tbt xmliinr 


nt>l phrais it 


■itht wdl Uve brai fUkcá up hy PcUr throush 






mecb ipirit. 






.1 


'45 






W 




Don Quixote 



that to-morrov wc sball come acroas loaie th^ihcrd on tbe 
rood who will tell us. Fot the prescnt it were well that 
you shouU go and skep under cover, fer tbe night air may 
hurt jrour «round, though the medicine they havc put to it 
is such that joa nccd not fear any miihap. 

Sancho Panza, who had alrady lent the long talk of 
the goatherd to tbe devil, bcggcd hU maitcr on his part to 
go inte Peter's hut to skep. Thit Don Quizóte did, and 
passcd all the rest of the night tn thinking of hii hdy 
Dulcinea, in imitation of MarccU's lovcn. Sancho Panza 
laid htmself down bctween Rozinante and his us, and slcpt, 
— not like a lover rejccted but like a man loundly kicked.* 



1+6 



CHAPTER Xlir 

\ fflirrfin is canclu^ed the itory of the Sfiepherdess Marcela^ 
tvith cther matUrs 

'ScARCE had the day begun to show itself by the balconJes of 
the East when five of the six goaiherds got up and weni to 
arouse Don Quixotc and tell him that, if he scill held to his 
purpose of going to see the &mous burying of Chrysostom, 
they would bear him company. Don Quixote, who dcsired 
nothing better, aróse and ordered Sancho to saddle and pannel 
at once, who did so with atl despatch, and with the same they 
a!l took to the road. They had not gone a quarter of a 
Icague when out of a cross-path they saw advancing towards 
xhcm some six shepherds ciad in black skins, and their heads 
crowned with garlands of cypress and bítter rose-bay. Each 
borc a thick statF of holly in hís hand, and there carne along 
liso iwo gemlemcn on horseback, handsomely 

lUtred fbr the road, with three other servants on foot in 
company, On mcetíng, they saluted one another 

'tcously, and, asking of each oiber whither they were 

ñng, they learned that all were on the road to the place of 

burial, and so they all journeycd togeiher. One of tboec on 

horseback, addrcssing his companion, said lo him: — Me- 

thinks, Sc6or Vivalda, that we may regard as well spent the 

iC we shall delay in secíng this notable funeral, — fbr 

ble ¡I cmnoi but be, according to the account these 
berdsmen have givcn us of ihc strange things both about 
the dead Bhcpherd and the murderous shcpherdess. 
'47 



^^■CCOI 

^Hburi 

buri:i 

hors( 

H thinl 

^Múne 

Bbeul 



Don Ouixote 

— So I think too, answcrcd Vivaldo; and, say I, that 1 

would delay not one day but foiir, ralhcr than miss the íight. 

Don Quixote tnquircd of them what they had heard aboui 

Marcela and Chrysoatom. The travellcr answered that 

early that same morníng thi-y had met those shepherds, and, 

secing them in that mournrul attírc, had askcd them why 

they went in that guise ; whcn one of them lold thc Story, 

— recounting ihc strangc bohaviour and the beauty of a 

shepherdess cailed Marcela, and the loves of the many who 

wooed her, togcther wiih the death of that Chrysostom to 

whosc funeral they were going, In short, he rcpeated all 

I that Peter had rebted to Don Quíxote. This conversation 

lended, another was commenccd ; he who was callcd Vivaldo 

I asking Don Quixote what was the reason that made hiin go 

srmed in that fashion in a country so peaceful. To whicb 

Don Quixote replied : 

- — The cxercise of my professíon does not allow or permit 
me IQ go otherwisc. Ease, luxury, and repose were invented 
fbr soft courtiers ; but toil, unrcst, and arms alone were 
dcsigned and madc for thosc whom thc worid caJls Knights 
Errant, of whom I, though unworthy, am of all thc Icast. 

Whcn they heard this they set him down for a madman i 
and, to be sure of it and to discover what itind of madncss 
was his, Vivaldo again asked him what he meant by Kníghis 
Errant. 

— Have not your worships rcad, answcred Don Quixote, 
the annals and histories of England, whcrein are rccordcd the 
famous cxploits of (Cing Arthur,' whom commoaly in oat 
Caatilian longue we cali the King Artus, of whom it is an 
ancient traditíon, common all over that kingdom of Grat 
Britaín, that this King did tiot üie, but by art of enchaut- 

I Thc legeni] of Kiag Arthnt biil {uuted ln(a oitdicv*! ronuDCc all ova 
Bonipe. uid prohibJy prended ia dile iny alba' on which a bogk ot chinlry 
wai fennited. Thcrc ue ■Uiuloni la Artltiu in Amada, moA tn ofarly Kt^ cale 



148 



"•13 Don Ouixote 



ment was changed inio ¡t crow,' and how that in process of 
time he is to come baclc to reign and recover his kingdom 
and sceptrc* For whích reason it cannot be proved that 
cver any Englishman, from that time to this, ever killed a 
crow. In this good King's time there was instituted that 
fámous order of chivalry, the Kníghts of the Round Table,* 
and then also occurred the amours between Lancelot of the 
Lake and the Queen Guinevere, which are there related 
without the omission of a jot, the go-between and conüdante 

' Thú Itidition i> of very oíd dale ind loríivf» lo this doy. Bowle quolB 
feND Ih« lawi «f Hoel the Good, who dicd 998, nnc of which impoia ■ puulljr 
fot the killing of bawlc), fdcoiu, and ctawi, In Comwill, iht chaugh ii rcgirded 
with a tpedil Tcnerition ai tbe tñid in which the toul of Aithur is caibodif d. 
Sce Ibe Una on Tinttgel by the Ule Rcv, R. S. H^iwker, dF Mocwcnitow : 
Matic yon hitd of lable wing, 

Talont and bcab all led with blood, 
The (piríl oC tfae long.lott bíng 

Paned in thal ihipc from Camlan'i floort. 
tn the praent day, the chough ii iilued by the nativa of King Arthur'i country, 
and caUeclon 



* inlcraliog bird, a 
' Thia belief it 



Duple of guinea) foi i ipecímcn. There 



of Con 



ling of ■ beloved Icíng is 






Thuí tbe HohenitauleD Emperor, Fred^ríclc Barbaroi 

ihe Hely Laiiit. í> iipedn) to " come agab and thiice a> faíi." King Sebailían ol' 

Panagil, the Roya! Knight Errant. ilain in 1 578 al Alcáaariiuivir, b batlle againit 

"~ Monn. wu loolted for eamejtly doring the French octiiiwiion of Portagal, 

ii confidentlji eipeited to rcappeat when the fortunf» of híi country are it 

towot. There íi 1 limilir trutilion among the Hindni abaHt thcir fimoiii 

g Vikmaaditya. wbo ú to bold hii coort again at Oojein »me day ¡ a> aba 

iB| Ibc Indian Muiiulmaiia aboat Akbír. The Icgcad of Arlhur'i nappcar- 

1 — ra ftokiaa rixqiái /aianu — datei from i( leait thí (welfth ctQtury, and 

beoí r(pr«ted Ln eiery híitory aboul hím lince. 

' Inttiluled, accordíng to Sir Thocnai Mallory, by Merlin a> "aa image af 
being thimght to be a round table or dith, — Anhur*) 
Table bn ever hild imk tn chivaliy aa the oldetl of knightly initilutioni, 
«TWd Chailonagne ai * model for Ma Twelve Peen, and our King 
in. for hk> Ordn of the Ganei, aa noEed in Ihe romance of Jlrmii (bk. 
Tibie íi frniucHtly i|aottd and imiCated in the 






'« 



Don Ouixote 



betwcen üiem being that honourcd hay. Quintañona, whcncc 
aroae that bailad so widely known and so much suiíg in OW 
Spain of — 

Never su re wis gal Un t Knight, 
Scrved hy diniscl or by dame 
As the bold Sir Lancelot, 

Whcn from Brirtany he carne, — 

with the coursc so swcet and delectable ^ of his amours and 
doughty fcats. \VeIl, from that time has that order of 
chivalry becn extending from hand to hand and sprsuling 
through many and divers parts of the worid ; * and therein, 
ñmous and reiiowned for their exploils, wcre the vaUant 
Amadis of Gaul, with all his sons and grandsons, to the ñhh 
generation,* and the valorous Feüxmartc of Hyrcania, and 
the ncver-worthity-to-bc-praiscd Tirante the Whitc, and he 
whom almost In our own days wc have scen, and heard, and 
taiked with, the inimitable and valorous Knight, Sir Bclianil 
of Greece.* This, then, sirs, is to be a Knight Errant, and 
what I have spolcen of is the order of its chivalry in whích 

1 The Inllail (rom whicli Don Qníiote quoCo for Üie itcoa* timt (•» ant, 
ch. ii.) ii onc oí (he only (hrrc foua^lcd on ihc BiFtoD Irgsiih wblch luve inrviTcd 
ín Spuxah, two hiving Lincclot fot tluir labjcct lad ooe Tríitu. Tbry ife 
ÍDcludcd in Durin'i ¡timjaccri Gíntral (val. iL pp. 197, 198], It it nccdUx te 
raniad tlie taátn of llie Bnlon tyitem sf ronuaca Uiit Quintinaiu doa DM 
■ppcar lo iny of ihcm. She i> tlic crcilion of the Spanith balUdiil sf th« fim 
hfllf of che liEtantli centurj. 

* Clcmmcin, wilh pitriotíc «al, thínlu ít worth «hile In nmiad Don 
Qaiiote thit he ii miitilun in iiying ÜMt the arder of ebivilrj lika iU lúc 
from King Arthut, ledng ihii (be icedí of Aaiidíi of Giul m eipmilj decluctf, 
■( the begiDDÍng of Ihe book, to hive hippeoed "noE nany yctn ifls thr 
ponina of oot Redeemet, Jam Chiúl." whcreu the Briliib king flúuriibed b 
the liilh centn^f the Chriitíia rn. 

' See the génealn^cal tsbl; of the Amadiía in AppeniUi C, roL i. 

* Al Clemencin poinU oul. tbii ii not lo Fitrangint ■ itilTiiieat ■• might 
Ét ñnt Hght J^peír^ Although imoag thfr pcTtanasa iatnidiiced ¡a Aeúeñ ñ 
Poliieni, dai^liier of rriam, King of Troy, there Íi ■ nivil hittle fniight «t 
" Babylon "■in vriütb irliUery it lucd, wfalle ia other pauígi* ttuailiMí ii mide 
of the coaqaett iC Granada a> aa evcot not Tery dtitanl. 

150 



teAP. ij 



Don Ouixote 



T, as I híve dready said, though a sinner, have madc pro- 
féssion, and what the aforesaid Knights professcd the same 
do I profess; and that is why I am going through ihese 
solitudes and deserta in quesi of adventures, with delibérate 
resolvc to oíFer my arm and my person to the most perilous 
which fortune may present, in aid of the weak and the 
ncedy. 

By this speech of hís the traveilers were able to convince 
themselves that Don Quixote was out of his wits and of the 
form of madness which mastered him, at which they were 
stnick with the same wonder which seized all those who, 
for [he firsl lime, carne to know of it. And Vivaldo, who 
vras a person of much shrewdness and of a cheerfui disposi- 
tion, in ordcr to pass without weariness the short joumey 
which thcy said had stiü to be made till they arrived at the 
hitl wherc the burying was to be, sought to give him an 
opportunity of going on with his rhapsodies ; and so be said 
10 him : — 

— Sir Knight Errant, mcthinks your worship has adopted 
one of the scverest professions there are upon earth, and I 
hold, for my part, ihat even that of the Carthusians is not so 
severe. 

— So severe ¡t might be, replied Don Quixote, but so 
nccessary in the world, I am within two fingers' breadth of 
doubting. For, if the truth is to be toJd, the soidier who 
Exccutes that which his captain commands, doeth no less 
than the captain who gíves the command. I mean that the 
holy mcn in all peacc and tranquiJlity seeit of Heavcn the 
wdfarc of the carth ; but we soldiers and ICnlghts execute 
what thcy pray for, dcfendíng it with the might of our arms 
md the edge of our swords ; not under sheltci', but undcr the 
Kn sky, expused for a mark to the intolerable beams of the 
n summer and the nipping frosts of winter. Thus are 
e God's ministers upon carth, and arms by which His justice ^' 
:utcd thcrcin. And whercas the afijiirs of war and the 
i5i 



Don Ouixote 



thingí louching inil ] 



; Uicrcu ( 



t be puf f 



ting, bbouring, and cxer- 
lion, ii foUows thai ihcy wbo profcss it havc, without doubt, 
a more arduous office thsii tbose who in tranquil peace uid 
repose are prajnng to God to fávour thcm who are able fot 
littlc. I do noi mean to say, ñor docs ít fxss my thoughts, 
ihat the condition of the Kntgbt Errtnt u as good as ihxt 
of the cloistered monic ; ^ I would only ai^ue from wbat 1 
suifer, ihat, withoui doubt, it b a more painful and more 
bebboured onc, more hungry and thjrsty, more mísenble, 
ragged, and lou5y ; * fór there ís no doubt but that the 
Knights Erraní of oíd sufiércd mudí il! itsagc in the coursc 
of thcir livcs. And if somc roíe lo be Emperors by the 
valour oC their arms, in fjíth but it cosí thcm a good dcal of 
thcir btood and sweat ; and if thcy who rose to that grade 
had lacked cnchantcrs and sagcs lo aid ibem, thcy wuuld 
havc becn soundly chealed of their dcsires and much deccívcd 
in their hopes. 

— Of that opinión am I, replicd the travcUer; but one 
ihing among many others secms to me very ill in jfOUf 
Knights Errant, and it is, that whcn thcy (ind theinseh'es 
on the point of cmergency in a great and perüous adventurr 
in which therc is a manifesi danger of losing thcir livw, 
nevcr at the moment of cngagíng in it do they rcracmbcr to 
commend themsclves to God, as evcty Chnstian ís bound to 
do in lilce penis, but rather to their mi^tresscs, wilh as much 
fervour and devotion as if these wcrc their God — a thing 
which seems to me to savour somcwhat of hcathenísm.' 

' Clcarly ipakea ia ironif — not in araol u tome h«vc thoughi. 

» Clemcndn a of opinión (hil ihii it i low ciprwiion, out oí hHinnn<r ■itíl 
tiit Doblc ind dccoratii lanc oí Don Qu'iitc'i dúcounc. But it b i mtilinin 
■pcnkiag, who mutt be allowcil lo be (gmctíma iDConilricnl ia inliUi( np ihe 
Bclnilitin oflifc wicti hii imagiiutíoni. 

* Same of the KaíghU WRe certalaly opea ID (hi> chirgt,nttt In tht SpUÜtk 

ramgnce^ which hald to peinti of riligioui fiiih man thn Mhen. A manMinH 

dn(i>n wUcb goa tO cntounlCT Anuiiii it iiupind wilb tlw pata lwf> al 

152 



13 



Don Ouixote 



— Sir, answered Don Quixote, it taiinot be other than 
chis in any wise, and it would ¡U (are with the Knight 
Errant who should do aught else, for in Knight Errantry it 
is the practice and custom that the Knight Errant who upon 
engaging in some great feat of arms has his mistress before 
him, shouJd turn his eycs on her softly and amorousiy, as it 
wcre by them to ask her to favour and protect him in ihe 
doubtful cnterprise he is undertaking ; and, even though 
nonc shoutd hear him, he is bound to utter certain words 
between his teeth in which he commends himself to her 
with all his heart ; and of this we have innumerable examplcs 
in the histories.^ Ñor must it be inferred from this that 
they should omit to commend themselves to God, for they 
liavc time and Icisure to do this in [he course of thcir lask. 

— For all that, replied the traveller, there yet lingers in 
me a doubt, and it is that oft-times I have read that wurds 
are bandied between the Errant Knights, and from one to - 
another tt comes about that iheir anger kindles, and they 
wheel thcir horses round and lake up a good piece of the 
ficld, and anón, without more ado, they return to the 
encounier at lop speed, and in mid carcer commend them- 
selves to their ladies ; and what commonly cnsues from their 
mecting is üiat one of them cumblcs over his hotse's crupper 
picrced through and through by his adversary's lance ; and, 

Oiúu Üiu on God (cb. luiü). The liM wotdi of AduiUi wat la comnmiil 

hú »aai lo Otiuu. Tímolt the While, ubo w« ffloie caitlai of Ihae malUn, 

KMtd wIiOK hbEory btotbo i painful laae of bdly, both la ítith and morali, 

a, — on goÍDg ínto battle. nevu invaked tny Saint, but oaly 

, hñ mlilreía ¡ ind, being nfroxhet ana foi thii, uhwctkI that " he 

» manjr (ij, uinli) ttrva none" (eh. ili*.)- ElKwhne, howivcr, 

it othrf hetoa give proof of liidr orütodoi]', duly involiiiig God 

-c bctakiog ÜiOD lo ibuglilci. 

* Thii wu not onljf the luitom but ibc duty al KjútfiU Etunt, cnjoined by 

n of chivalry. In Iba S/n P^riiáji, compílrd by Kíng Alfoiuo, it ít 

II Knishn in Ihc momcni of conibiit ibould ciU upon iheir 

fe> the Uiaigtbming of their hartí ind thf lutintíon af the ihune • 

'53 




Don Quixote 



as to ihe other x>ne, Íi happcns also that if he did not hc^ on 
to hia horse's mane he could not hclp comfng to ihc ground. 
And I Icnow nol how ihe dcad odc could have time to com- 
mend himsclf to God ío the coursc of thía quiclc píece of 
work i it wcfc better thai thc words whJch he spent in thc 
charge commending himself to his mistress werc spent in 
what was his duty and obligation as a Chrístian. More- 
over, [ believe that not all the ICnights Errant have ladics 
to whom to comtnend themselves, for ther are not aü 
tn lovc. 

—That is impossible, answered Don Quixote ; I say thit 
it is impossible that there should be any Knighi Emuit 
without a iady,' because to such it is as propcr and natural 
to be in love as íór the s)cy to have stars ; and I daré warrant 
that there has not been seen any history wherein ¡s found a 
Knigbc Errant without amour^ ; for the vcry Éict of his 
being without them would show him to be no legitimate 
ICnight but a bastard, :tnd one who had cniered thc stroitg- 
hold of the said Knighthood, not by thc door but ovcr the 
fence, like a thi^f and a robber. 

— Nevcrthcless, said the travcUer, methinlcs I have read, 
if my memory feils me not, that Don Galaor, brothcr to the 
valorous Amadis of Gaul, never had a dcfinite mistrcss* to 
whom he could commend himself, and yet was not the les* 
esteemed, and was a very valiant and famous tCnight. 

' In thc itatuia oí the Ordci dF the Bamíi il ii eiprcHly Ul<l <)oini In Anide 
JI, fhit nn membcf of ihc Order ihouLd be preKnt >t Couit who ilíd QOt ttnK 
taait \iáy. m fara átiioKrin-U ñm¡ fttii ¡a /altjar i cauru an ilíi,~4ua (o dil- 
hiMiiur hcr, but ta cntertain hcr ot to aarrj with her. Even 4t thc «uautc 
Cooct of [iiliella t)ie Catholic, the Venetún AmtMuadat ot Úit tirar MttfiM 
that ihcre wi> no K.nighi wha did aal lervc lomc laij. Such i connuion did 
not imply ÍRimotiIii]', nor ncctnuily Icad Co miniagc. I( wu giUuiRy cutied 
to the híghul poinl, which oaly becimr lni|niK ii cbívaliy icwlf becimF cnrrapt. 

' Dema i^taLtila — maiiriai tu tilri. Víviiilo i> h*rdl]r cerrect *baat OiiMff, 
who, Ihdogb a ^cial lovtr, wilh miny mitlraHn, had ot,e ■peciil lidy, BñoUnk, 
the dauglileí af the King of SobniÜM, whoni hr mide hi> Queen when he C«a« 
inlo hit kÍDgdom. 

■5+ 



ij Don Ouixote 



To which our Don Quíxoie responded : — Sir, onc swallow 
does not make a sumnier;' moreover, I know that this 
ICnight was in secret very much in love, apart from which 
bis habit of well loving all those who to him were well 
sceming was a natural disposición which he was unable to 
boU in hand. But, in efFect, it ¡s very well attested tbat he 
had one only whom he had made sovereign of bis will, to 
whom he used to commcnd himsetf very often and secretly, 
fbr he prized bimaclf on bcing a cióse cavalíer.' 

— Then ¡f it is essential that every Kiiight Errant should 
be in love, said the travcller, it may be feirly presumed that 
your worship is so, sínce yon are of the profession ; and if 
your worship does not príze yourself to be as cióse as Don 
Galaor, I entrcat you with all earnestness, on bclialf of all 
this company and my own, to cell us the ñame, country, 
i^uality, and cbarms of your lady, for she would account 
hcrself happy to ha ve all the world know that she is 
beloved and served by such a K.night as your worship seems 

rbe. 
Herc Don Quixote breatbed a decp sigb, and said : 
— I am unable to affirm whcther my sweet enemy delighcs 
or not in the world Icnowing cliat I serve her. Only this I 
can say, in response to what has been demanded of me with 
so much courtesy, that her ñame is Dulcinea; her country 
El Toboso, a villagc of La Mancha ; her quality should be 
at least that of Princess, since she is my Queen and mistress ; 
her beauly superhuman, for in ber are realised all those im- 
possible and chimcrical attributes of beauty which the poets 
assign lo their Udies ; that her hair ís gold ; her fbrehead the 
Elysian Ficlds ; her eycbrows Heavcn's bows ; her eyes 
surn ; her cheeks roses ; her tips coráis ; pearls her teeth ; 



' A ptovHh in Spuiúh, u la everf ath« 
■ D<n IJuiíutc'i tatl in ilclaice of Sil 

OaLwr w not mnirluble for doKncu i: 



Gilidt ladi h 



^^^F Don Quixote l^^| 

alabcuter ber ncck -, irutrbie het bosam ; ivory her faands ; 
her whitcncss snow ¡ and the parís which moáesty tías vcilcd 
from human eya such, I hacy and undcrstand, as a díscreet 
judgmcnt can extol without comparing.' 

—Her bneagc, race, and /amily vre would Itnow, said 
VivaJdo. 

Román Cunii, Caii, or Scipios Í8 shc, ñor of the modera 
Colonnas and Orsinis, ñor of the Moneadas and the 
Rcqucscncs of Cataluña ; ñor yct of the Rebellas and 
Vilknovas of Valencia ; the Palafoxes, Nuzas, Rocabenis, 
Corefias, Lunas, Alagones, Urreas, Fozes, and Gurreas of 
Aragón ; tfac Cerdas, Manriques, Mcndozas, and Guzroans 
of Castile ; the Alencastrcs, Pallas, and Mcncses of Portugal.» 
But she is of those of El Toboso of La Mancha,— a lineage 
which, though it be modera, may givc gentlc beginning to 
the most illustrious lámilies of future ages ; and let me not 
be gainsaid in ihis savc it be on the conditions whicfa 
Zerbino put at the foot of the trophy of Orlando's arnis, 
lo wit : 

— Leí none dieic arras tetnove ^^^^H 
Bul he who darci OiUndo's míght lo provC.' ' ^^^^^^^H 


' Thii piHugc it ODC of thoK in Do* ^kÍjmk miavi to W "««J M^B^I 
Indix Exjmr¡auti¡a of Ponugiil, 16Í4. U <Ioh odi íp[»f lÍMt in Spain llw^B 
Ii>qiii>il»n «ire » «{uuniíifa. ■ 

= Thwc «re lUDia of gíMl Einiiln. oinrr 01 1« f>miliir lo taiat of hiitnrr. ■ 
Uadtr the Dicu of jll,m^,at of Port«g«l, ihr Engliih r«títr will. pcHupt, ■ 
hMrfly rtcogniíe ihc fímUy of - lime.hDnciure.1 LauaKer." Tht Unuiun ■ 
«me ínto Ponag»! with Pbílipp». ddeit í.uglilo of Jobp of allm^ «ha ■ 

maiiioncd in Üic LiriWi. of whom Prin» Hfnr] the Nivigitoi wn d^^B^H 
ffkbntcd. It wu > b.it.r.1 of o» of thar PrÍDoa from wbom t^^^^^l 

> Zerbino. 4 <oD of thf Kmg of ScolUnd, wu icnt ava by bii t*tk4^^^H 
the ChHitiaiu in tbc l«(urr of P>rí>. He wu dtlivEred fiwQ om^^^H 
OilUKto, uiil haviog fallen in wilh the un» of l.ii IlberKix. colkftt^^^^^ 

.56 ^^H 



Don Ouixote 



— Albeit my iinc is thc Cachopines of Laredo,' answered 
(he traveller, I shall not presume lo compare it with that of 
El Toboso of La Mancha, though, to tell the truth, auch a 
e has never titl now reached my ears. 
low, not reached you I exclaimed Don Quixote. 
the rest as they journeyed listencd with grcat 
1 to the conversation of the two, and they pcrceived, 
even to the very goatherds and shepherds, our Don Quixote's 
exceedíng lacle of wJts. Sancho Panza alone took all that his 
master said for truth, knowing who he was and having been 

linn (jUoMil in ihe lext vrtte not i pon oí Zerbino't iaictlptiaD, but ire idderl 



'The Cítisfiv. 
(ht North of Spii 
«rrilcn of Üie limf » 
AHuiiu. ocal SiDUndf 
Oaoiry, dEcIvn Cae! 






iDtiijuity not Odly Cerv 



, Mr. Oiouby, on the luihorily of Ihr Acá 
)]wne to be " a word of Indian origin " j whith 
the Diem of Montemijor, written ibout che mi 
fiñccDtll coitary, '■the Cichopútn of Liredo" iie menlioned, » i íw 
the Noñh. Bowlo hu o cuiioui nole.^which kciiu to lel 
^■Mtion, — (D tbe eifect thit ín the deitiuctxoa nf lome oíd haunu id the • 
DTSinUnder wu found tliíi íatcripIioD : — 

jliarifilln rMriy (urinal 






■ proof Üat thii wu bo fei^cd appeLbtive ' 
B«wle^ ot hii priotrr. Ipelli SiDtaudcr Sai 
modera En|liih truilitor boldly mi 
u md AiInHini were among Ü 



1 Fife."- 



-Thc 



■irlicjl 



I, vcK Cathopint*, which nacoc of dr 
ul by Üic niiivo to all tetlleri of dírcct Spaoú 
to the nulhcr coudIi; u a vulgar tyaoaym for retur 
f rütéK 

157 



emigtaala to America, 
ia Queeiuland. Amoaf 
I IDUIul wu cioght up 

origin, wheooe it puird 



Don Ouixote 



acqtuintcd wiih him frotn his birih. Bul what he bcsitatcd 
a little about was ihc bclicving all that about thc bcauíiful 
Dulcinea del Toboso, fbr never had íuch ñame of sttdi 
Princess come to bis cars, although he livcd near £1 Toboso. 
As they went along thus discoursing, they saw in a gorge 
formed betwecn two high mountains ' some twenty shcp- 
hcrds desccnding, all dressed in skins of blaclc wool and 
ctowned with garlatiils, which^ as afterwards appeared, were 
some of ycw and same of cypress. Bclween six of thcm 
thcy carried a bier covered wíth many sorts of flower» and 
boughs. ThÍ5 being scen by one of the goathcrds, he 
exclaimed : — Those who come yondcr are they who bear 
tbe body of Chrysoscom, and the fooi of that mountaiQ is 
the place whcrc he dírccted them to burv him, 

Thcy made haste, therefore, to rcach tbe spot, and !t vnt 
just at the time whcn the othcrs had sct ihe bier on the 
ground, and four of thcm with pickaxes were digging a 
grave by the side of a hard rock. Thcy saluted onc anothcr 
courtcously, and thcn Don Quixotc and those who had come 
with him turned to look al the bier, on which, covcrcd with 
flowers, thcy saw a dead body, clothed hke a shcpherd, 
sccniingly thirty years of age, and showing, dcad as he was, 
that in ufe he had bcen of a handsome countenance and 
gallant bearing. Around him were placed on the bier soiDc 
books and many papera, open and scaled ; and those who 
looked on, and those who were opcning ihe grave, ¡tnd aü 
the rest who stood by, preserved a wondcríul silence, utttil 
onc of those who bad borne the dcad man said to anotber: 
— Note well, Ambrosio, if this be the spot of whicb 
Chrysostom spake, sínce yon wish that evcrything whích be 
dircctcd in bis will should be so cxactly pcrformcd.' 



■ proof Df the inUFal ukcn ibroíd in Dat ^¡nm iml e*peelÉny in 



"3 



Don Quixote 



— This it is, answcred Ambrosio, for here oft-timcs did 
my unhappy friend recount to me the story of hís woc. 
There ¡t was, he told me, that he saw for the ftrst time that 
mortal enemy of the race of men, and there it was also that 
he first declared to her his passion, as honest as it was ardcnt, 
and here it was that Marcela for the last time scorned and 



rejected him, so that he put an 
woful life, and here, in remci 
great, he desired them to by hii 
oblivion. 

And turning to Don Qui: 
proccedcd, saying:— That body, 



end to the tragedy of his 
brance of misfortunes so 
L in the boweis of etcrnal 

ite and the travellcrs he 
rs, which with pitiful 



eyes you are regarding, was the depository of a soul in 
which Heaven had lodged an infinite share of its riches. 
That is the body of Chrysostom, who was unique in wit^v i 
singular in courtesy, supreme in gentleness, a ph^oix in 
friendship, magniücent wíthout measure, tofty without 
presumption, pleasant without vulgaríty ; and, in ñne, the 
first in ail the ari of goodness, and second to none in the 
ways of misfortune. He loved well, he was hated ; he 
adored, and he was disdaincd ; he woued a wild beast ; he 
imporiuned a statue ; he pursued the wind ¡ he cried to the 
wildcrness ; he served ingratitude, of whom he received for 
rcward to be the spoil ofdeath in the midst of his career of 
\ifcy — brought to end by a shepherdess whom he cssayed to 
make elernal, to líve ín ihe memory of men, as those papers 
you behold could well prove, had he not enjoined me to 
commit them lo the flamea as we are committing his body 
to the earth.' 

I thit Üw Acntony of 
aboul i7;o, dtajiatcbeal 
umlicn os i iiieciit nunion lo itpiín ■□ order to iovntigitc the 
■ of (lie ilíiüi of the ilicp}icnl Cbrytoilom, lo ucirtain the pUce 
■kM burUI, *nil ahuin atha intomution of the idioitutn lai tnvelí gf Don 
Hr, I^iJm Ji Cirvamla, p. 17;]. 
* TIm haraagw, 'm tlx Mrlc of Uie ttKjittiit oí paíioril fomancc, whnM 



Don Ouixote 



— You wiQuId áeai witb tbctn more hanhl^ xaú more 
craelly tian tbeir owacr himaclf, said VivzLdo ^ (br it is 
neither just ñor ríghi lo ñilltl the twili of one who, in what 
he cnjoin», goes out of 2IÍ rcawn ; iwr would it havc bcen 
right in Aügustus Cxsar if he had conscntcd to put tn 
cxecution what the divine Mantuan ordcred in his will.' 
Thcrcfore, Ambrosio, whilc you g¡ve your frícnd's body to 
the eafth, you should not give his writíngs lo oblivion ; for 
if he commanded it as one aggricvcd, it is not wcll that you 
shouid comply as one voíd of díscreiion, bul ratbcr, tn* 
giving lifc lo thcse papcrs, Iccep cver alivc the crudty of 
Marcela, to serve as an example to the living in the times (O 
come, su ihat they may shun and ñy all such pitfalls ; fbr I 
ah-cady know, and they who are here come, the hÍKtory of 
this your love-strícken and iH-üted fricnd ) and we Icnow of 
your ñ'iendship, and the occasion of hís death, and what be 
cnjoined at the cióse of his life ; out of which lamentable 
story may be gathercd how great was the cruelty of Marccb, 
the love of Chrysostom, the loyalty of your fnendsliip, 
I together with the end which those malee vrho gallop vríth 
i a loóse rcin down the path which headlong love scts befofe 
their eyes. Last night wc learnt of Chrysostom's deatli, 
and that he was to be buried in thia place i and so, from 
curiosity and compassion, we turned out of our direct road, 
and agreed to come and see wilh our eyes what had moved 
US to so much pity in the hearing. And in requtta] of tbts 
our compassion, and of the dcsirc born in us to relieve it ÍT 
it wcre possibie, wc bcseecb thec, díscrect Ambrosio, — at 
Icasi, I, on my part, do pray thce,— that, refraining from 

fiull ia ill lnQgugn i> lo iprik loo much anil loo findy, i* ijuMcil ( 
in hii TiUirrf >/ ^nii* Eltfuncí, ■■ ■ model oF CiiIlUan pro» 
bcitcr in tlic wiglnil Üiio it can ponibl^ te mide tn ilu ín an; ti*ni 
our mairra t«>te ii ii tedíaoi and (rliliclit, lllnugh the Icena rounil Cliryíi 
fnyc a not «vilhoat pícturelqumm ind dramatic rfféct, 

' AUudlng to IliE itocy in Pliori °' Aufuilui Turbiddlag ihc po 
(D ir buml, u tbe poct had direcled in hi> will (Hin. /»«,. [¡h. iO. 
160 



CHAP. 13 Don Ouixote 

burning those papers, thou shouldst let me take away some 
of them. 

And, without waiting for the shepherd's answer, he 
stretched forth his hand and took some of those that were 
nearest him ; seeing which, Ambrosio said : 

— Out of courtesy, sir, I will consent to your keeping 
what you have taken, but to think that I shall desist from 
burning the rest is a vain expectation. 

Vivaldo, who longed to see what the papers contained, 
opened one of them at once, and saw that it bore as a title, 
Lay of Despair ; hearing which, Ambrosio said : 

— That is the last piece the unhappy man wrote, and 
that you may see, sir, to what a pass his misfortunes 
brought him, read it so as to be heard, for you will have 
time enough for that while they are digging the grave. 

— That I will, very willingly, said Vivaldo ; and as all 
the bystanders had the same desire, they gathered round him 
in a circle, and he, reading in a clear voice, found that it 
ran thus : — 



VOL. I l6l II 



CHAPTER XÍV 

IPherein are ceníain/d the deípairing vtrsts t/lhe dtai 
shtphtrd, with ctkrr uiiasktá-fvr maUtrs 



THE LAV OF CHRYSOSTOM > 

SiKCE, cruel lUíid, thou'd forcc me va be tdlíng, 
Froro tongue to tongue, Itora nación unto nadon, ' 
Thy hmh resolve and unrelenting ngour, 
ril cali bclow, dark HcU ¡tsclf compclling 



' Tht Lay ./ Oajmta, ú 



> ihc lonjat ^(^^ 



(■(«ly Lo Coa^unK, upan thc iDoiltuiii cnn opon thcmai 
□f wbich ihíre h» bcen i •inguUr divtnity of opioian amoiig crítíct, oiüte 
forrígn, By lomc tt it hdd to be i terioui md Dobk a>rDp«itioii» wortliy of tJi^ 
pniut of ibE author of Ntanancia, and, itating lome trirting defcOJ and lOOM 
low ctpKuiaai, fit lo compare wfth dn peítcn *orki of iht ímt pm>. By 
olhcn il ú dentcd all gran and wonh, cvco of invcatiDD. Oiw Uu traailMor, 
gmetally hird to pleaK io Üx maltcr of Ccrvantei' pottry, i* durioíd wjth ** ¡u 
ÍDtrícate ajilan of ioterliced rbyniei." u wdl u with " tbc iaimlublc rbjlfaai 
■nd harmony " of tile linct. The " medial thyme," al thi dOK of cadi iliiiplic 



or doHble octave, produce» oa thia Vt 
thal fallí upan the car líkt Ihal of w 



1 cffcct li 



leaning, w 



dinint ihore " — ao sffect «hlch, 
ic hai Dot oltcmpted to imítaCc in EnElitb. AnullMf 
apinioo tliit Ú\t Lay itielf prora Ihat the wrlca, — 
It Cmaom bul Cfaryíoitooi, — ''wat eniiml]r nud u 
le he wtDte it." Wc are aafced, moreover. lo idmin ít> "jincUag aMO- 
ThcK *erdieti are irrecondLeable and incomprchcniiblc. For my pul I 
dclect eilher the "inimitable rbyüim and harmony" nr ifae "jiagling 
tx." The "medial rhycnet" are bul modcratdjí (DCCfiifal. and Ükrj 
- - - j^jj^ r,arx of the "jinglíng anoninee," the thynua 
The b«I Ihing which can be laid of Ihli poem 
ia ihat íl ihawi a very mairliible power of ímigínalioa and eomauDd of raelTe, 
I tuve done tbe bett I couJd wílh a vtry lurd Uik, daiming na otlKf tncfll (ot 

162 



gCBAl 



■4 Don Ouixote 

To lend my voicc a tone of lameacarion ¡ 
Therewith my nitivc accents to disfigure. 
And lesl that ray heart's descant fail of vigour 
That awful voicc shall sccond my compUining, 
Minglcd with thc fragmenis of my tormted aoul, 
To tell thy ciucl deeds and my iad dolé ¡ 
The history to hcar al! love»' ears conscraíning. 
Thcn listen, and ihine hean of flint incline, 
To what's no sound concordant but the din 
Porlh froin ray o'crcharged hcart oul rushing, 
Fetchcd from ihe dcpihs by my frenzy'j might 
That fot thy dcapitc and for my lovc ¡s gushing. 

The tavige lion's roar and of ihc ragiag 

Wolf the fearful howling, the malignan! his» 

Of scaly serpent, thc dcmoniac yell 

Of íomc grim ficnd, ihe sinistcr presiging 

Croak of the raven,' thc roar in the abysi 

Ofocean mutable tossed by ihc galc ; 

Of thc new-conquercd bull implacable 

Thc bcllowing, and the sad, sobbitig moan 

Of thc widowed turtle, or the drear dcacsnt 

Of the envied owl,° with all thc plaíni 

Of thc wholc infernal bhck battalion ; 

Lct all togethcr out with my aching soul, 

Commingled in ;uch wise in onc loud dolé, 

A» all the alfrighted sensea to confuse, 

For the cruel pain my tortured bosom's fecling, 

New modct for ití rcvealing ncedt that I «hould a» 



my bild lad iBggtd rfayaici Una that ihey ut u ftilbfbl u I could nuke tbem 
lo tht ttntt lad tbe melic al ihr orjgiriaL 

[ 1 S^ Bmara an^ frirtlixil ai üiii crmx. [Vilgíl, Baci/Í«.] 
' ímJItJi Mi. Tbt Londan cdilíon of i?]^ chinged miáiaán, withoui 
lit—wUovtA i bul Ihe Spunish Andcniy rettond ihe oripRnl. 
li b doobtlo* Ihí trac, nuting. Two linca ibove ¡t i> the loitlc-dow who 
H widow, o« it ihcTí iny rcaion why ihe owl ihould be uiollicr. Thc o«l 
ic OBiy Mtil whith wilnaied Ihc Cnidfiíion, ind i> ihcrcfort 
d b^ kll ihc nthcT hitdt, wha pcnccnte ít on >U ippeannce bj daylij^ht. 

'63 



Don Ouixote 

Of this harsh díscord I'U not rchearse 

To Fa[bcr Tagus, ñor shall thc sad echo» rcach 

The oüve-grovM of famous Becii,* here 

The burden of my sorrow» I'll disperie. 

Wich longue of dcath tnd words of life I'U preach 

Wherc lofty rocíes and profound hoüows are, 

On shores remote, among dark vallcys, whcrc 

Thc carth no Iread of human creature knowt, 

Or whcrc ihe sud his gloiy never showcd, 

Or whcrc U nurmrcd thc cnvcnom'd brood 

Of monstcrs dirc whora tceming NJlus* growi. 

What ihougli thcse descrc solitudes imong 

Uncertain sound the echoes of my wrong, 

Ñor match thy cruelty, unparagon'd ; 

By íávour of my niggard dcstjny 

They shill uansportcd be lo all [he nide worid round,^ 



Disdain doth kill ; suapiciont, falsc or sound. 

Do íinothcr patience ; with sevcrcr blow 

Kills jealousy ; long abscncc doth dbconipote 

Life, ñor guard againat oblívion is found 

In hope of happicr futurc here below : 

Of al] is death inevitable the clase. 

Yci I live on who suficred a!l ihcse woes, 

O rairacle unheard of !— I still livc, 

Jealous, disdaincd, abseni, and wcU Bltured 

Of doubts, all which my patience hath endured. 

And even ¡n obÜvion survivc. 



' Bn;i,üící 



K Df thc Gul 



: ttiU c: 



* NiAi lIsK. The Snt ciliticmi hiw lihn, which ii clortf i bLuBrtci ( cao- 
verted in the London cdiiion of i?;! tato Nik, wbich tbc Sptaiih Audcsiy 
iihiplcd imd bu icUinei!. Clemcndn ebuigr* NiJt ínto Liim, wrtluBl iq 
wtnint. — oa the grvunil thal wild bciiti live in docrli tai waoUi, mi not la 
titen, But ihe Nile wii ilwiyi ftmooi for being the IiPinr of maRttETt — hippo- 
faumi, (tocodila, uid ihe Ithf ¡ iu mud beiag tuppoud tO gtaenle honiíl 
cieaturet •twstuicDOtlf. Sve Lunii, bk. Íi. 

16+ 



i'.H Don Quixote 

Amid theec tortures, nevcr do mine eyes 
Reach to the shadow of the hopc I priíc. 
Ñor hopetcss do I chcrish the cndcavour. 
Raiher my wrong lo coníummate, I swesr, 
To be without her for ever and fot cver. 



Is'l possible, by chance, in onc instant, 

To hope and fcar, or is it well to do it, 

When surer are the reasons for my fearíng ? 

Havc 1, whcn bittcr jcalousy doth stand in front, 

To cióse mine cycs, ifl pcrforec must vicw it, 

Through thouaatid wounds withjn my bicast appcaringf 

Who would not ope ihc gatc and let dcspair in, 

Ifíccing ihere, wíthout all counterfeit 

Disdain uncovcred, and what was suspicion 

Turn'd into opcn fact, O cursi iransition ! 

And limpid truih transformed into a chcat. 

O tyiant of love's realm, fcll jealousy ! 

Of mercy bind thy manatíes on me ; 

Disdain, a grace ! a twisted cord givc me ! — 

But woc is rae ! your memory ever staya, 

And, cruel vicior, slays my matchless agony. 



And now I die, and sincc all hopc l've lost 
Of luck in death more than in life I have, 
ril resl all siubborn in my fantasy ; 
ril say he'a raost discreet who loves the most, 
And that üic frecst hcart is *till Love'i slave. 
And bounden to her antique tyranny. 
ril say ihai ihe, my constan! cnemy. 
As fair a mind as body doth possess, 
That her unkindness U my own deaert, 
That Love, by what he pours on us of hnn, 
Hit sofi dominión keeps in cven peace. 
And in this fancy and with this hard ropc 
Shorlening the 



oid of all grace and hopc, 
¡his havc me consígned. 
l6s 



Don Ouixote 

ni to thc winda mj boáj ind toul bequeath, 
Saní palm or wrcaih in fiínire bliu lo find. 

Thou, whose cruel icom wu tcill che cauK 

To urge me to thii trcason 'gitnar my youth, 

To quic chis miserable life 1 hatc, 

Wh«t ihis decp wound wiihin my bosom show» 

Cuist not but sec, cansí not bm Itnow [he miih, 

How cheerfuUy thy rigoor I have met, 

If haply thou shouldst know, howcvcr late. 

Me worthy thit che Hcavcn o( thy fair eje» 

Should by my death be clouded, let no leír 

Be sbed fot me, O maid, fot luught I care 

To let thec gathcr oí my heart the prize. 

RaUícr leí gay laughier ai my funeral 

PiocUim my deaih to be ihy festival. 

Yet why, fool that 1 am, scck I to tcach 

Thcc, knowing chai more cmblazoncd ii thy glory 

In ihat my lífe's siory so quiclc iii sad end doth rcacb. 

Come, for ii is time, from Hell's abyss 
Come raging Tancalus, come Sisyphus 
Heaving hi» cruel stone, let Tityus bring 
His vuUurc, and renown'd Ixion hÍ9 
Aye-roUing whccl ; thc brood ofDanaui, 
The doomcd sisters evcr-labouring ; 
Let all che mortal patns thcir bosoms wrínj; I 
To me transfer ; «nd in dejectcd tone 
(If atight of funeral rite to claim I daré') 
Chaunt obsequies, and o'er my carease barc, 
Denied a shtoud, jointly make dolotous moan. 
Let the ihree-headed janitor of Hell, 
Wilh all its brood of moosiers, íivell 
The doleful diapasón of despair. 
No cercraony cUe, methinks, ii duc 
Thc dead lover truc, to crovm his loncly bier. 

i^. H ene whu h>< "wilfalJy loiighl hii ovm ulvjtiaa," ■• I 



I 



Don Quixote 

Song of despair ! you shouíd noi grieve, 
Now thst my tortured breasl yoü leavc ; 
Büt Tiihcr, since you are born of her, 
Like her be cheer'd by my mishap, 
And banish sadaess in the sepulcbrc. 



The Lay of Chrysostom was well liked ' by those who 
lisiened lo it, bul the reader declared that il seemcd to him 
not 10 agree with what he had heard of Marcela's modesty 
and goodness, for Chrysostom complaíned in ¡t of jealousy, 
suspidons, and neglect, — all to the prejudice of Marcela's 
credic aiid good ñame. To which Ambrosio, as onc who 
well knew his frícrd's most secret thoughts, repiied ; — Sir, 
in ordcr ihat you may be satisüed in tbat doubt, you should 
Icnow that when this luckless one wroCc this song, he was 
absent from Marcela, from whom he had withdrawn himself 
roluntarily, to see if absence would cxert upon him its 
womcd power. And as there ¡s nothing which vexes not 
the absent lover, and no fear that does not haunt him, so 
was Chrysostom tormcnted by imagínary jealousies and 
suspicions, dreaded as much as if they wcre true ; and thus 
the truth which rcport declares of Marcela's goodness stands 
wherc ¡t was, — to wliom, save that she is cruel, and a httic 
haughty, and much disdainful, Envy herself should not and 
cannot impute any fault. 

— Such is the truth, said Vivaldo.— And he was about to 
rcad another paper of thosc he had rescued from the lire, 
when he was interrupted by a miraculous visión, for such 
ít seemcd, whích suddenly presented itself before their cyes. 
On the top of the rock where they were digging the grave 



Acnitiag Ccrvwtn' cUiíni la be t poct, grli ídI» in abiurd Umpír over ifali 
,/ Orymim. On th« oth« hjnd, Pdlicet, N.^nete. Vicente d. Lo. I 
■nd the grcat nujuríty or Spiañb críiici, culogi» ihc poem. deeUting íl ti 
wvtthy of bciixg nnked uuong the muterpiecei of Cutilíin vene. 



Don Ouixote 



iherc appcared the shcphcriless Marcela,' so beauíiful tiui 
ticr bcauty surpasscd íts rcpuution- Those whu till thcn 
had never seen hcr gazed upon hcr in wonder and in silencc, 
and those accustomed to iee hcr wcre no less amazed tfaan 
(hosc who had never bchcid hcr. But hardly had Ambrosú^ 
spied hcr, when, with anger in his hcart, he spokc thi 
— Comcst thou, haply, faír basiüslc of ihesc moi 
to sec if at thy presence the wounds of this wretch 
ihy cruclly has slaiii will bteed afresh í Or comcst 
to glory in thy temper's fell work ? Or to look down from 
that height, like another pitílcss Ñero, upon the blaze of 
thy burning Romcf Or insolcnily to iramplc on tbis 
hapless corsé, as did his ungraieful djughter hcr Tather 
Tarquin's ? ' Tel! us quickly why thou art come, or what 
thou wouldst most wísh, for as I know ihai the ihoughts of 
Chrysostom when living never (áiled to be obedient to thec, 

I will take care, though he is dead, that all who cali them- 
selves his friends shall sene thce. 

— I come not, O Ambrosio, for anything which thou 
liast mentioncd, answcred Marcela ; but rathcr in my owo 
defence, and to convince all how unreasonablc ihcy are who 
blame me for thcir sufTcrings and fbr the dcath of Chrysos- 
tom i and, thcrefore, 1 cntreat all of you who are hete to givc 

I Thcrc ii ■ pariUcl incidcni in CcrvimlH* puioril of G^Uttt, whsc ihc 
■hephcrdcu. Geloiíi, cruel ind díidainful, prtifnM hetttlf imldoilir on i racfe, 
tai juitifici hcr Ircinncnl ol hcr lover, pcnÍHl]' ii Mtrnla Aaa here. Tbc 
whole tacar, and Ihe epÍKidc of wbich il tanta («rt. ire ta br nkai ai ■ •[¡rd- 
mcQ of ihe pd«1arvl romance >o populir in thar jktíoeI. Tíul ihey «ere mlf«- 
ilneerl hete willi x purpoM 1 cannot doulrt -, ñor Íi ic fair to Itrit ihc Luiiuigi; 

II »mc Etiíjci havc dcmCf i» intcndcd lo be the nmtural ipeech of ihrpheidt md 
ihephef JciÉCi. tn s PiKnril «e do not look fot nituri! tpeecli. The Unjonsc 
li laited to. ihfriowntion, and one nuy Iruat the inlhor to konir whil he w:ii 
■boat wheD he mirle iI high-flown. peduilit, ind utrtvigsni, Inititd of the 
•imple ind vulgir tilk nf tuMict. The pcoper campirítea ít aol brtarMii llkN 
loOie uid niture, bul bvlween thii Pailofal and Dtbui of the age,- 
«ith TU Cimnitu 1/ Ftmtrtir't AtuJu, by Sir Philip SídntT. 

' The reider nent not be toM thit Ambrollo hlundfti betwen ' 



Servil» Tullíni 



168 



■ H 



Don Ouixote 



me ihcir attcntion, for it will nol necd much time or many 
words to pcrsunde aU sensible men of whal is a truth. 
Heaven, as you say, has made me beautiful, and to üuch a 
degree that, wíthom your being able to help ii, my beauty 
moves you to love me ; and, for the love you show for me, 
you say, and you even require, ihat I should be bound to love 
you. By the natural instinct with which God has endowed 
me, I Itnow that everything beautiful is lovable ; but I do 
not understand why, by reason of being loved, that which is 
lovcd for its beauty is compelled to love what loves ít ; 
besides, it may happen that the lover of what ís beautiful 
may be ugly ; and, what is ugly being worthy of abhorrence, 
it would be very absurd for it to say : 1 love thec for being 
beautiful i thou must love me though I am ugly.' But pui 
tlie case that the beauty Ís equal on bolh sides, not for this 
must liie inclinations be alike, for all beauties do not breed 
love i and some charm theeye and do not win ihe hearl, If 
every beauty bred love and won hearts, the fancy would 
wander confused and vague, wíthoui knowing whcre to 
«ettle ; for, as beautiful objects are infinite, there must be an 
inSníty of inchnations ; and, as I Have hcard say, tnie love 
brooks no división, and must be voluntary and not enforccd. 
This being so, as I believe it to be, why would you rctjuirí 
me to surrendcr my will by forcé, upon no other compubion 
than that you say you love me ? Nay, tell me, if Heavcn 
had madc me ugly, as i t has made me fair, would xt be just 
for me to complain that you did not love me ? Morcover, 
you have to consíder that I did not choose the beauíy I have ; 
for, such as it is, Heaven gave me it of favour, without my 
asking or choosing it ; and even as the víper deserves no 
bkme li>r the poiíon ít bears, though shc kills with it, seeing 
\i was gíven hcr by nature, ncither do I deserve reproach for 
being beautiful. For beauty ín the virtuous woman ¡s líke 

d lifr ; huí hr »■■ not lonhle, and ihf lúvcd 



■ nal" (H. Utíae). 



169 



Don Ouixote 



disaat fire or a sharp sword — ihe one iloes not buní, tfae 
oibcr áoa not cut, him who docs not go nnr it. Honoiu 
and linuct are onumcno af thc jou), witboui whicfa the 
bod^, ihough it be bcautifiíl, sbould not be so otecm ed. 
But if dustity be one of tbe virtuics which moct adom atkd 
beauüfy body and mind, whj" must she lose ii, who is loved 
fbr her bcauty, to gntify b» dcsire, vrha, fbr hU own pleasunc 
akmc, titcs to rob faer oí it wtth all hts míght and encrgj f 
Frce was I bom, and that I mighi lite free I cboac die 
solitude oí thc hclds. The treea of tbcse mountaún are mjr 
companioiu ; thc clear watcre of these brooks are my mirron ; 
to tbe tiees and the brooks I dudóse my ihoughts and my 
charms. I am ihe fire aparl, and thc &word hr oíF. TImxc 
whom I havc captívated hj my eyci, I have undeccíved bv 
my words. If destres are fed by hopes, I not having givcn 
axiy to Chrysostom or any other, it may not justly be said 
thai thc cnd of líny was my doing, fot his own stubbornness 
rathcr than my cruelty slew him. And if they bring against 
me the honeíty of his intentions, and that thcrefore I was 
bound lo rca))ond to them, I say that when on tliai same spot 
where now you dig his grave he avouchcd to me thc goodness 
of his purpo<«c, I told him that mine was to Uve In perpetual 
singlcncss, and that the earth alone should tasle of thc fruit 
of my chastity and of thc spoils of my beauty. If he, after 
all thiü pbin spcalcing, chose to defy hope and to sai] agaínít 
thc wind, what wonder that he is drowncd in the gulf of lus 
infáiualíon í Had I encouragcd him, I had becn tálse ; had 
I gratiñcd him, I had acted contrary to my bciier purpose 
and resohitíon. He persisted, though undecéíved ; ivíthout 
bctng haicd, he dcspaired ; judgc, then, whether it is right 
that of his affliction I should bcar tlie penalty. Lct him 
who has been deceivcd complaín i leí him despair wbum the 
promiscd hopcs havc failed ; lct him speak uui whom I shall 
invite 1 let him vaunt whom I shall cncouragc i bul lct him 
not cali me cruel or murderess whom I havc noi prom 
170 



Don Ouixote 



deceived, invítcd, or encouragcd. Htaven until now has not 
willed that I should love by destiny ; and to thiiik that I 
sliould love by election i's ídle. Leí thís general warníng 
serve for the particular benefit of each of thosc who court 
me i and, be it understood from this time forth, that íf any 
one dies for me he dies not of jealousy or of rejection, for 
she who loves nobody cannot make any one jealous, and 
undeceiving should not be set down as disdain. Let him 
who calis me wild beast and basilisk, leave me alone as a 
thíng htirtful and evil ; let him who calis me ingraic, give 
up serving me; who strange, let him not know me; who 
cruel, iet him not follow me ; for this wild beast, this basilísk, 
this ingrate, this strange and cruel being will not seclc, serve, 
Icnow, or follow them ín any way. If his impatience and 
headstrong passion have slain Chrysostom, why should my 
modesiy and reserve be blamed ? If I preserve my purity in 
the society of the trees, why should he want me to lose it 
who wishes me to preserve it among men ? I, as you know, 
have wealtli of my own, ñor covet that of others. I have a 
frce tcmpcr, and no taste for subjection, I neither love ñor 
líate any one. I do not deceive this ñor courC that ; I triHe 
not with one, ñor dally with another. The modest talk of 
the sbepherd lasses of these villages and the care of my she- 
goats are my recreation. My desires are bounded by ihcsc 
mountains, and, ¡f they soar beyond, it is to contémplate the 
beauty of the Heavens, steps by which the soul journeys to 
its primal abodc. 

So sayiiig, without caring to hear any replv, she turncd 
away and plunged into the thickest of the wood, which was 
hard by, Icaving aU there as much struck with her good sensc 
as her beauty.' And some of them among those who had 

' TWi IpHcb of MarcfU ü pronounad by Clcmencin ¡mptitincnt, alTecleil, 
•n4 rídicnlDBt ¡ ud hú only woDilcr » thit Clirjioitiim ihoalil hive been luch 
■ Diony M to kiU binuelf for " i ftmalc lo piiny ind loquidoiii." Thoe coaU 
he DO IttUt lat Úita the wholc of CIcriKiicm'i ninning commcntiry oa Ibit 



Don Ouixote 



been wounded by the potent shattg spcil from her fovely cyes, 
made as though they would fbllow hcr, wilhout proflting by 
the plain warning whích they had heard : sccing which Don 
Quixote,^it seeming to htm that the occasion had airivcd 
for excrcising his chivalry by ihc succouring of dainselü in 
distress, — laying his hand on the hilt of his sword, exdaimed, 
in a clear and distinct tone : 

— Let no pcrson, of whatcver ranlt or condition he be, 
daré to follow the beauteaus Marcela, on paín of falling under 
the fury of my tndignation. Shc has shown by cicar and 
ampie arguments that shc has had little or no blame in the 
death of Chrysostom, and how alien is her lifc from yielding 
to the desires of any of her lovers i for which reason, instcad 
of being followed and persecuted, it is just she should be 
honoured and esteemed of atl gooii men in the world, for shc 
provcs that shc is the only one therein livJng wiih »o purc an 
intent. 

Whether it was for the menaces of Don Quísote, oí" 
because Ambrosio bade them to íinísh with what was due to 
thcir dear fricnd, not one of the shcphcrda stirrcd or departed 
thence, until, the grave being dug and Chrysostom's papers 
burned, they laJd his corpse ín it, not without many tcars 
firom the bystandcrs. They closed the scpulchrc with a 
heavy stone until such time as a slab could be prepared which 
Ambrosio said he intended to have made, with an cpitaph, 
which was to run thus : 

Hcrc a haplcEs corsc ¿oth lie, 
Of a simple shephcrd iwain, 

paiingc ífíoiit, oí Ihc ciitíc'i hopclFu Iicit of aympilliy wíth Üu watk t( 
he devotcd «o moch time atiil bbouf. To roe th» cpimiie (imlike >oniE (¡ 

I (oimlcrfoil (D Don (¡uuaic'i ronuniit citnvigince mü tti Sancbo'i 
worldliiUH. The wliolt compmition i> hgghientií hy tJw intraductloo oí llv I 
ígurca ftont Ük olii-world putorilj anil wi imn lo mume Üit Horj id tk I 
Knifht'i advoilun* wíth grcilcr mt foi Ihi* reUcf >nd ia[cini)illan. 
172 



Don Ouixote 

Stark and cold, untimely slaia 
By a damsel's ciuelty. 

Done 10 deacK by rígorous hands 
Oía beautcous, scornfu! maíd ; 
Tyranl Love on him hath laíd 

P¡tilcs9 his fcll c 



wn thcy strewed flowers and branchcs of trees upon tlic 
ind all, aftcr coniloüng wíth his Triend Ambrosio, 
toóle thcir leave of him. The same did Vivaldo and his 
companiun : and Don Quíxote bade farewell to his hosts 
and to the travellers, these pressíng him to accompany them 
to Scvillc, as bcing a pbce very fií for the findíng of adven- 
tures, as in every street and behind every córner thcy were 
to be met with more than elsewhere.^ Don Quixote thankcd 
them for the advicc, and for the disposition they showed to 
do him a courtesy, and said that, for the present, he could 
not go, and ought not to go, to Seville until he had clcared* 
all those mountains * of thievcs and robbers, of whom rcport 
said they were full. The travellers, perceivíng his good 
imcntíon, would not importune him any more, but, once 
more bidding him ferewell, left him and pursued thcir journey, 
in the course of which thcy laíled not to discuss the story of 
Marcela and Chrysostom, as well as the follies of Don 
Quiítote. He, on his part, resolved to go in search of the 
■hcpherdess Marcela, and oífcr to do hcr all the scrvice ín his 
powcr. But it fel! out otherwise than he expected, as is 



' 1 h4Tt Adoptfd hc(T the «noidatia 
fui itipif», wbich í> ibe ruding oí Üi 
— *ltn]Fi uMd in bad pan. D/ifijnr u 
r. ÜK Sinr» MoiB», thtn, ind 




Don Quixote 



recounted in the coune of tbü veracioui lÚBtoiy, of whidí 
hcre cnds the Second Pan.' 

> Al bcfon noud, Ccmotc* hid eñgatllj iolndrd ts dvUc hb teok falo 
Fonr PaU, m imitrntiod of tht book of ..«m£i ^ GaJ. TU Jhtt Pnt csicd 
wtili ciaplcr vüL The Kbeme of fuU wn ibaadoocd bdbrt tbi ostbor had 
got to tbc end, bal, « nnil, he wu orclcH ud dU not uJu tbe traaUc to altar 
the imnpiaeat, thoagh he DmnlBTd tbc ch*(lai coKCBÜidj thraa|liiint 
whil «u iftetwirdi known, ud ii hoi ilmTi rdbicd to, m Pait FitM, — that 
' sd íb 1605. 




lich happened 
'il-miiíded 



Xhe sagc Cid Hamct Benengeli relates that as soon as Don 
Quixote had talcen leavc of his hosts and of all those who 
had been present at the buryíng of the shepherd Chrysosiom, 
he and his squire struck into the same wood which they had 
seen the shepherdcss Marcela cnter, and having wandered 
through it for more than two hours, searchíng for her on 
all sides without being able to find her, they carne to a halt 
¡n a mcadow, rich in verdant grass, near which there nin a 
pleasant and refrcshing stream, such as invited and cvcn 
compclled ihem to pass there the sultry hours of the noon- 
ddc, which alrcady began to set in fiercely. Don Quixote 
and Sancho dismountcd, and leavíng the ass and Rozinante 
loóse to feed on the grass that was there in plcnty, they 
ransaciced iheir wallcts, and wiihout any ceremony, master 
and man, in all goodwÜI and fcllowship, feil to eating of 
what they found ín them. Sancho had not carcd lo tic up 
Rozinante, rciying on his knowledge of him as a beast so 
quict and so little wanton • that not all the mares of the 
pastures of Cordova^ could provoke him to any improprícly. 



1 fimoi» Knighl Emgnt, Don Ga>i 
* Cotdan ftom the nilie)! lima 1 



Don Ouixote 



But chance^ or ihc Devil, who is noi alvnyt asiecp,* ardaíncd 
that tíicrc should go fcciling in that gladc a troop of Galician 
pony-nurts, bclonging en certain Yanguesan carriers,' wbosc 
custom it is to rcst at noon with thcir tcntns in spots and 
places whcrc grass and water abound, and that whcre Don 
Quixote chanccd lo be wcU suitcd the Yanguoam' puiposc 
As ¡t ftll out the desirc carne to Rocinante to disport himself 
with the lady mares, and abandoning, as soon as he smcll - 
thcm, hia natural habit and demcanour, he sct olTat a sharp 
little trot, without asking his mastcr's leave, to communicatc 
his needs to them. But they, who, as ¡t secmed, were more 
inclined for fecding than for anythíng eUc, rcccivcd him 
with thcir hcds and tceth in such sort that in a trice they 
had bursi his girths, and Icft him siripped of his saddic and 
nalced. Bul whal he inust have fdl more was that the 
carriers, secing the vioicnce he was offering to thcir mares, 
ran up with stakes, and so belabourcd him that they brought 
him to the ground in sorc plight, Upon this Don Quixote 

The Ommiiile Amin brought thilhcr Ihe (hoiast blocHl of Yaara tai of 
Ned^eilp Al^ the rFconqanl, Lhc brteiling »tudt paHcd uto llii hiaifi of the 
fiscal fiuDÜy of Alví, by whonl they were truu&tied tu the Crown in ihe 
icign of rhilíp tl^ and mainlainril u the roytl chirp ap to ihc lUti of 
FerdiuDd Vil. Tbe cMibliihmcnl conilitcd of nuj^tñcsil itibla uid olfioo, 
in whkh thcn aied to be niJÍaIiÍDrd 500 mlreí with *4 tUllionI of tbe k«H 
Emem bnedi. They wete depaitored bctwGcn the riven OujdAl^utifU' mné 
Gnalbarbo lo the eait of the úty. The nuili have io thoe diyi heoí pWB nf, 
but the diitríct •till rrliinn Ui lodent Ijtne for horae» ind mulo, though til» 
fint bave much degenented. 

' ^H m nJai tiia dutrmc ia lil tbc editiont, — wietimlji ind in centnnfl 
of humout allctcil by KlitKnbuich inlu jm muy ftat vtta Jiibmi, whkll 
Cervintei, he «y», "rauít híve wHllen," — Miut hivc written, indeetl. if hl 
rtfcdei >I1 hi> rtailrn lo be » diill ■• Scfloi HiitRnlmich. 

* The Vinguuini ire « people from Yinpi» in the dlitrlct of RIojt b Uld 
Culilr, MwnB BurgDi ■nil Logroño. Tbey itíll yunne their olil caUni( «f 
orrien, going wíth ihdr Innu tu all p>rt> uf Sfain. Thef •rnn to br > 
tliilÍDct nce in appeinntc chincter, and habit, ind ke«p wry much lo lh<nt- 
wltct. The OiUóin marcí ate iDiill and roD;li, bul hirdy. inii 1» «ill poHy 
ia me lór tutyüig packi ihiough the nilder ind ku ftbjucRied diitrlct) ot 
tht Pminrala, 

.76 



Don Ouixote 



j can 

K 



and Sancho, wha had wítnesscd the basting of Rozinante, 
carne up all out of brcath, and Don Quixote said lo Sancho : 

— From what I see, friend Sancho, these be no Knights, 
but base fcllows and of low brccdíng. I say it that thou 
may^st freely aid me in taking due vengeance for the wrong 
which thcy havc done to Rozinante befbrc our eycs. 

— What the devil vengeance can wc takc, answered Sancho, 
whcn íherc are more than twenty and we not more than 
two, — nay, pcrhaps but one and a half ? 

^I count for a hundred, repÜed Don Quixote ; and 
wilhoul further pariey he drew his sword and set upor the 
Yanguesans, and the same did Sancho Panza, moved and 
cncouraged by his master's example ; and to begin wíth, 
Don Quixote dealt a blow to one, which slit open the 
leaihcr jacket he worc with a great part of his shouldcr, 
The Yanguesans, finding themselves so rudely handlcd by 
ihcse two men only, they beíng so many, bctook themselves 
lo thcir stakes, and getting the two into their midst, began 
lo lay on ihem with great fury and vehemcnce ; in fact, at the 
KCond thwack they brought Sancho to the groimd, and the 
same fete befell Don Quixote, wíthout his skül and high 
mettle availing him ; and as Fate ordaincd it, he fcll at the 
iéct of Rozinante, who had not yet been able to rise, whencc 
can be Icarnt how stakes can batter when wielded by angry, 
rUBtic hands. Thcn, secing the mischief they had done, 
Yanguesans loaded their team with as much haste as 
'possible and went their way, Icaving the two adventurers in 
b(ul CISC and worse humour. 

The tirst who carne to himself was Sancho Panza, who, 
Itnding himself riear his master, cried in a feeble and dolefil] 
Voicc :— Sir Don Quixote ! Oh, Sir Don Quixote ! 

What wouldst thou, brother Sancho? answercd Don 

lixote in the same faint and gríevous tone as Sancha. 
I woulJ, if it were possible, said Sancho Panza, that 
jrour worsiiip stiould give me a couple of mouthfuls of that 
VOL. I 177 la 



Don Quixote 



potion of Fairy Blas,^ íf so be u your worship has it bcre ai 
huid i perhaps it will be as good fnt brokcn bones as Jbr 
woiuíds. 

— If I had it hcrc, unhappy me, whai should wc lack I 
rciumed Don Quixote ; bul I swcar lo ihcc, Sancho Panza, 
on ihe h.hh of a ICnight Errant, bcFoie two days do pasa, 

I tinless fortune should otherwise ordain, I will have it in my 

w, possession, or my hands shall fail me. 

— But in how many days does your worship suppose 
llut we shall be able to move our fect ? replied Sancbo 
Panza. 

— For myself I can say, said ihe battered Knight, that I 
am unable to fix a term to those days, but I takc on in)-self 
ihe blame of all, for I should not have put hand to sword 
against men who are not dubbed tCníghtí tike mysclf j and 
to I believe that, as a penalty for having infí'inged the laws 
of chivalry, the God of battles has permitted this chasttte- 
ment to be inflicted on me, Therefore, brolher Sancho, ¡t 
behoves thee to takc heed of this that I tell tliec, for it 
mightily concerns the wclíáre of us both ¡ and it is, that 
when thou seest such-like rabble offer us any wrong, wait 
not for me to draw sword upon thcm, for I will not do [t 
in any wise, but put thou thy hand to thy sword, Uld 
chastise them at thy pleasurc -, and should any Knights come 
to their aid and dcfence, I shall be able to defend thee and 
DÍFcnd them with all my might ¡ and thou hast alrcady scen 
by a thousand tokens and proofs to what cxtcnt the valour 

I of this my puissant arm can reach. — So arrogant bad the 

I poor gentlcman grown by his viciory over the sluut Biscayan. 

But this advicc of his master did not seem so good to 

Sancho Panza as to restrain him from answering thus ; — Sir, 

I am a pcaceful man, mcek and quiet, und can let paas any 

injury whatever, for I have a 

-Ulntlly 



s iud tpelccn ia ch, 1 



178 



if whldi more um. 



Don Quixote 



to rear. So let me also give a hint lo your worship} fi» 
comiTund it may not be, ihat by no manner of means shall 
I put hand to sword ciiher against clown or against Kníght, 
and that from this time forward I forgive, before God, what- 
cvcr insult they havc paid me or have to do ; whcther they 
are, or shali be, paid by persons high or low, rich or poor, 
gcntle or simple,' without excepting any rank or condition. 

On hearing this, his master replied : — Wou!d that I 
had brcaih cnough to be able to spcak a little easily, and 
that (he pain I fecl ín this rib were assuaged werc it ever so 
iitile, that 1 mighi malte thee understand. Panza, the error 
wherein thou art. Haric ye, miserable sinner, should the 
wind of fortune, now so contrary, change in our favour, 
swclling the saib of our desire so that, safely and without any 
check, we may make the port in one of those isles which I 
havcpromised thee, — ^what would becomeof thee if,whenafter 
winning it I had made thee Governor thereof, thou shouldst 
come to frústrate ali by not being Knight, nor dcsiring to be 
onc, through having neither courage nor resolución to avenge 
thy insults and defend ihy dominión ? For thou must know 
that in kingdoms and provinces newly conquercd, the mínds 
of their ¡nhabitants are aC no time so rescfui and so well dis- 
poscd to ihcir new tord as that thcre is no fear of their 
iniending some revoluiion in order to alter fhings once more, 
and, as they say, cry their luck agaJn. And ihus it is 
neccssary that the new possessor should have understanding 
to know how lo govern, and courage to aitack and to defend 
himself in evcry emcrgency. 

— In this which has now happened to us, answered 
Sancho, I would like to have had that understanding and 
thai courage your worship speaks of ; but I swear to you on 
the word of a poor man that 1 am more Ht for plastcrs than 
for preachments. See if your worship can risc, and we will 

I tí¡4a¡gí í ftelurtí fitim ii one who pajií fítíc, or [he lai, from wbíth 



'79 



Don Quijote 



hclp Rozinantr^ ihough he does not dcscrvc it, for he ww 
the chicf cause o{ all ihis mauling, Ncver iiid I bclieve it 
of Rocinante, wbom I tooic for a chaate fcllow and as 
pcaccful as mytcir. After alt, it is a good saying that it 
takcs a long time to come lo Itnow people, and that ihere it 
nothtng surc in thís life, Who would have said that after 
thosc mighty blows your wonhip gave that unludcy Knight 
Errant ' thcrc would hai-c come up so quick at tbe tail of 
them thtE grcac storm oF chwicks which has bcen Ict 
upon our shoulden í 

— Thinc indced, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, 
have bccn made for such squalb, but min^ nursed ii 
htien and cambríc,* it ís plain that they will fce! more 
kcenly the pain of this misad ven tu re. And wcrc it not that 
I imagine, — why do 1 say imagine? — that I know ftw 
certain that al! thcse inconveniences are very mttch the 
accompaniments of the exerdse of arma, I would Ict myself 
die here out of puré vexalion. 

To this the squire rcpÜed : — Sir, if theic mishaps are 
what one rcaps from Knightry, tell me, come they very 
often, or have they set times whcn they befall, for methinlú 
that two such crops would leave me usciess for the third, tf 
God of Hís infinite mercy does not help us. 

— Know, fricnd Sancho, answcrcd Don Quixote, that tila 
life of Knights Errant is subject to a thousand períb 
mischance?, and cqualjy are they in near poRsibilíl 
become Kings and Emperors, as cxpcricncc has si 
many and divers Knights of whosc history ] have a ihorot^i 
knowledge.' And I could tell tliee now, if my pain would 



(. [Le Bitc 
* Entre li-ata/mi j h. 



Satiafii, «eeordiag (o Coyírrabi», it ■ yvj 
liiu, Ktf-tnlanrtd c)ath. ricrívi»! from Ihc Greck «rnriti. ti* inJ Jliliiiui i^»f 
iheaa, Htianáai u fine lini:a. firtt Dumuracliiicd in Hollanil, tttá auif m UM 
tarttm% the luiuiíom lo Sptín. 

' It wouli) be tediun» to tile the long Uii of Knighn Eiruit wlio BH 
kln^donu tai empirei. Snch «r» the accompliilunEnc lad the tai, U wK 

lío 



• 'S 



Don Quixote 



let me, of somc who by their might of arm have mounted to 
those exajted degrees I have meiitioned, and thoae same 
found ihemselves, both beíore and after, in sundry calamitLes 
and misíortunes. For the valorous Amadís of Gaul fcll into 
ihe powcr of his moría! cnemy Arcalaiis the enchanter, of 
whom it ¡s well attested that, holding the Knight prísoner, 
he gave him, being tíed to a pillar of a courtyard, more than 
íErttrfiundrcd lashes with his horse's rein,' iThere is also a 
rccondite author, of no small credit, who reporta that the 
Knight of Phccbus, being caught in a certain trap which fell 
from bcneath his feec in a certain castle, found himself after 
his ^1 bound hand and foot in a dcep cavern under ground ; 
and there they treated him to one of what they cali clysters 
of snow-water and sand, which well-nigh linished him ; and 
if he had not been succoured in that sore extremity by a 
sage, his great tríend, it would have gone very hard with the 
peor Knight.* Thcrcfore, among such good company I 
may wcll pass, for grcater aiTronts were those they suffered 
than those which now we sutfer. For I would have thee to 
Icnow, Sancho, that wounds which are inílícted by any 

pnrpúH, af cverj knightijr carrer. Siyi the ttatute of Alfonso X i Coald thrrc 
be Kingí aail EmpTon wha had nal becn K.nighu, iny more chao thera conld 
be bahof» whn híd not been pticiti í — Amoog the reígoí of Knight» Erruit 
nal tecagniíed b)i bialory woe tbose of Agrijet over Scotliad, Tilaoque ovcc 
Californií. Griiasdar over Bobemú, uid Benurdo del Cirpío ovet Itelind. 
TltiDte the White wii proclainied Cziar of the Gredc Empirc, ind hit Iquin 
HlppoUlo, tfta h» dcath, bccime Emperor of ConlluiImopLe. Florambcl oí 
Laca wu idopted heii by the Emperor of Oermany, wbile Eiplandian, Rinilda, 
Ptimerin de Olivi, ind Olivante de Lian ill piclied up emperorihipt, — the 
\M of di^nitia being mched by the fortúnate Knight Flortian. who. by hii 

^ CIploiti, carne lo be Emperor of Ruuia, King of Pertia, Pretter John of 
p Indin, md L^ril of the Shíníng MúnatiiiUi, — ill togrihet. 

' Doa Quilate a ggílty ben of a lipie of memory. No lach iadignity u 
'laving been luflefed by Amadii. though Gindalín, híi iqnin, wsi 

I tíed to B p»t intl eipOKd lo Isd imelli fron) a ñre Itghteil nndet bim 

miifíl, Uc. i. <h. KriLi). 

■ Thn mbidvnlnre of tbe trip bappencd nol lo the Knight of Phaboi, 

. to Amadla — (he aabw^nait indígnily being. n Clemrncin olserveí, a playfol 



Don Ouixote 



instruments whích by chance inay be in hand do not disgrace 
a man, and this is k¡d down m the law of the duel tn cxpress 
terms, so that if a cobbler sirike another with ihe last which 
he has in his hand, though it be really of wood, it shall noi 
ihercforc be said that he wbo is struck has been cudgeUed. 
This [ say in order ihat thou mayst noi suppofc that becatuse 
we ha*c come wcll pounded out of this afiiay wc rcmain 
dlsgraced, for the arms which these men carríed and with 
which thcy mauled us were no other than thcir pack-staves, 
and not one of them, so ñr as I can rcmcmber, carricd rapio, 
sword, or dagger. 

— Xhcy gavc me no leisure, responded Sancho, to loóle at 
them so closciy, for scarce had I !aid hand on my Tizona ' 
when they crossed' my shoulders with their siiclcs in 8Uch 
stytc that they knockcd ihe sighi from my cycs and the 
stfcngth from my fcet, putting me down where I now iic, 
and where I am not so much concerned to think if those 
cudgellings wcre a disgrace or not as pained at the blows^ 
which still remain as deeply pnnted on my metnory as on 
my ' 



shoulders. 



-Nevertheless, I would have thce know, brothcr Panza, 
replied Don Quixote, that there is no remembranoe 

' Thúiu, or Tñna, — lilerilly, " burning," and la m cx»tt c^uivilmt of oti 
Eofliih " brind,"— one of ihc two bmoui »»ordi of Üir Cid, Ihe otfatr taíog 
Cs/diti. r«uu, wbidí wii wcrth mate tbtn ■ thouiind nijiiki of (sU, 
sccording to the Pirmí ii¡ CiJ, wu WDa in batttc from the Moorúh Kiof 
Bucir. Culada, which iru wartli oalj i tbomind «Ivct mulu, wu wau from 
RímoD (Rjjimood), Coiuit of Barciloiu. Thac weipoiu wete fcntomd by 
Ihe Cid on híi loni-in-Ijiw, tbc Counu of Oftíod, u wed<tlng |>nwati, brt 
■fter theii crime ind il> eipoiare were laken tw»j tai gtvaí by R«]i DÚt, 
one to ka nephev Felíi Mu£o), lod ifac othn lo hla fillhful 
ind countryznan Mutía Antoiincr. A docmzMst tguoted by 
Ihe Simincii irchívet. dfictibei the iwo iwoidi of the Cid u Ihoi euitíoc 
(loong nme notable Btnu in Ihi tlcáatr o¡ Scgovia. Thsre i> ■ weipoo lo bc 
Kcn at thii day in the Roya] Annoury of Madrid, «4iich\ii ciIW ihr CSÍ*! 
«Totd, bul it> malee tD¿ ihajie, ii weU ai ncwtve». tíailf Jtaote It to tclong. 
tn ■ perlod long poltcrioi to the devcalh (enlurj. 

• SíWijWrm — iit. •* madc the lign of ihe cton." 

i8i 



Don Quixote 



L which death may not 



swered Don Quixote, but 

strength, for so I mean to 

for not ihe least part 

me, has fallen on the poor 



1 thac. 



lid Sancho, he 



which time may not end, i 
quelL 

— But what greater mishap can thcre be, returned Panza, 
IBJ1 thai which waics for time to end Jt and death to quell 
? If this mischance of ours wcre one of those which are 

led with a couplc of plasters, ¡t wouid not bi; so bad ; but 
thinking that not all the plasters of a hospital will be 
enough to give it a good turn, 

— No more of this, Sancho, ai 
□ut of weakness do thou gathef 
do 1 and Ict us see how Roí 
of this misfortune, ¡t s 
bcast. 

— There is nothing to wonder 
being a Knight Errant too ; ^ what I wonder at is, that my 
ass should gct off free and wíthout scot where we carne out 
withaut ribs." 

— Fortune doth ever leave one door open in disasters in 
order to give ihcm relíef, said Don Quixote, I say so, 
because this liltle beast will now be able to supply the wam 
of Rozinante, carrying me henee to some castle where I 
may be healed of my wounds. Ñor shall I esteem such 
horsemanship di shonou rabie, for I remember to havc read 
how that the good oíd Silenus, tutor and guide of the merry 
god of laughter, when he entered the city of the hundred 
gatcs,' rodé very pleasantly mounted on a handsomc ass. 

' HirOcubuich. wilh (quil dulnai jnd rrcklainoi, cartecti cjíjI/ítü aaiUnu, 
m »ffiiti by Saacho to RotiiuDte, iota raballrria ínJanu, irmulciag gnrely 
ÚM Koainanic u ■ horH {¡^kUiítia] and aot i mu (raW/crg). A douUc 
■fcdmen oí llic kiod of eommcnt ind corrFctioa of which Cctvidih h» liHa 
ibc Ticlim t — Ym Hírtimbuich ■ one ot the bal, ind mighl be upetWd, (nm 

forl», wbidí «re chitfljr of humaur, lo be the mMt «ynifalhttic of 

iC mha kiR idimicd thcnuelva ín Spiin lo che Uik of cditing Dbh ^iunt. 

* Tbue k ■ plty ujion vroidi in (be aríginil between mu¡ {zotu) ani 

n (rib») whiíh il ii imponible lo renaer is Eogliih, lo that the poinl of 

ltao*t Jekc i> ncuaiiril) loil. 

■ Don Qoiiotc blnndert here betweui the Orecíin ud (be Egrptian Thebet, 

■83 



Don Ouixote 



— It is Ukc he went mountcd as your worship says, 
returncd Sancho ; bui tbere is a great difference between 
going a-horscback ' and being laid athwart like a sack of 
dung. 

To which Don Quixote replíed : — ^Thc wounds which 
are received in battle do rather confcr honour than taJcc it 
away. Thcrefore, friend Sancho, givc me no more answers, 
bul, as 1 have told ihee already, rise as well as thou art abte 
and set me on lop of liiy ass, however it best picases thee, 
and let iis depart henee before the night comes and overtakes 
US in this wilderncss. 

— Yet have I heard your worship say, quoth Panza, that 
it is quite the thing for Knights Errant to siecp ín wilds 
and deseris the most part of the ycar, and that they takc it 
for good luck. 

— That is when thcy cannot do better, replied Don 
Quixote, or when they are ¡n love ; and so irue is chis, that 
there have been ÍCnights who have been upon a rock, under 
sun and shade and all the inclemencies of Heaven, for two 
years without their ladies knowing of it ; and onc of these 
was Amadís, who, caüing himself Beltenebros, abode ín the 
Peña Pobre.* I know not whether it was for eight years or 
eight monihs, for I am not very sure of the reckoning ; 
enough that he was thcre doíng pcnance for I know not 
whai displeasure which the lady Oriana had caused him. 

u the faoiDiu {ueC, Juan de Mou, hid hlondcred bcíon bim. It wu ibe 
Egyptim Thcbd which hid the huadied gita, Theba, the lutíve di; «f 

' ¡r tabaÜtre mcimi " to go on honcbíck," ti well u ** to ga il ■ gentlonut," 
anil the wordi ve uied bjr Smcho ia thíi dauble icdm. 

o Biilmirfi, ■' Buutifal datkling"— ía the French venioo Si/iaiUimx. le 
wu o nímí given (o Anudit b¡r the holy tnan vrilh whom, ifter s liff witli 
Otianí, he luoJc rrfiíge, — the lint part of the ward deooting hú buHty, ecd 
ihe lecond the gloooiioeM of hi» condition. The PtAi Putrt, "pDor rott." ot 
"rock dotoroui," wat ■ deeoUte iilind aS Ihe cuiit when the hcrinil íiyti. 
Fot furthET dctuli of thii epUode tee ch. m. foUowiiig. 

184 



'S 



Don Quixote 



I 



US leave thís now, and despatch bel 
disutcr like Rozínante's liappens to the ass. 

— There would be the devil indeed, said Sancho, — And, 
discharging hímsclf of thiny nks, and threescorc sighs, and a 
hundred and twenty curses and maledictions on him who 
had brought him there, he raised himself up, but, stopping 
half-wiy, stood bent lílte a Turkish bow, witliout power to 
Straightcn himself i and in all thís pain he harnessed bis ass, 
who abo had gone somcwhat astray ihrough that day's 
excessive überty. He then lifted up Rozinante, who, had 
he possesscd a tongue to complaín with, would verily not 
have been behínd either Sancho or h¡s master. In the end, 
Sancho set Don Quixotc on the ass, and, tying Rozinante 
to his tail, led the ass by the halter, proceeding, as best he 
could, towards where the highroad seemed to lie. 

He had scarce gone a short league when Fortune, who 
was guiding their aftairs from good to better, discovered to 
him the road, in which he spied an inn, which to his annoy- 
ancc and to Don Quixote's joy must needs be a castle. 
Sancho protested that it was an inn, and his master that it 
was not one but a castle ; and the controversy lasted so long 
ihat ihcy had lime to arrive there without finishing it, 
Sancho entcring in without more parley wítb all his team.' 

• Mu(b ingtnious eonJKlurc, gcographícil sud otherwiie, bu bren wuled 
Vgolluiílsilificitiiinar Ihe ipol where Ihii inn itood, the wcond of thoM «hích 
t£|nM in the ilory, and the icenc of » n»ny diverting advcnturei. Mr. Onntbjr 
ftfmioiiacc* it ta be " lomewhere nnr Valdepcñm, in ihe wlaF-growing díilríct," 
^tat thl* la iacaDliilcRl wilh che authoriud icintrary of Don SJuiíote. In the 
nip iUlutrative of the Itnight'» wandetings, given in tht Spanúh Acadrmy'i 
« «tition (1819), the lile of ihe t^iio ¡i B>ed at a ipol near MaUgoo, 
^hlch b DOW a lUtioa cm the railway between Madrid and Ciudad Real. By 
eant «teeced by Don Quiíole afler leiving hit villige, he ihonld now be 
veat of it, and on the rígbi Unk of ihe Guadiana. But Valdepeíiat lie* 
K d« uuth of ihe plaa whence the Kjiighl ict out, gnd otherwiie docs 
eem Ca »p« with tlie giography of thii «cond wlly. 



185 



CHAPTER XVI 

Ofwhat happened ts Dan ^¡xate ¡he Ingtnhtis Gentiemtn m 
the tan vihich he imagined te be a eastte * 

The innlceeper, seeing Don Quixote laid athwart on the 
ass, asked Sancho what aíled hlcn. Sancho answered that ít 
was nothing, only thai he had fallen áovfti from a rock, and 
had bruised his ribs somewhat. The innlcceper had for wife 
one not of a dispositíon such as those of her calüng are woni 
to have, for she was by nature charitable, and felt fbr the 
sufFerings of her neighbours. So she hastencd al once to 
attend on Don Quixote, and made her young daughier, a 
very good-loolcing lass, help her in laking carc of her guest, 
There was also servíng in ihe ínn an Asturían wench, 
broad-checked, flat-pated,^ with a snub nosc, blind of one 

' TKis it the lecand oí the ícni lo glorifiot by Don Qoi'o'^'i ünigiDilion. 
Thoie vho hive Kcn i Spaniíh vbiu, cipEcially ia Li Mancha, with íti law 
roof, ili mean appurtenaDcn, tJic filthy gniund floor, commoa to mcn uü tctitHt 
the inhospitable ínteriorf betokeninganj'thing but **cnlertatiunent|" will jpprvcÍJte 
[he fuU eilravigance of the craie, The vnim i» reoUy not in inn proper. bit 
the ilegrailed iurTÍvsl of the Oríentil iluní, It unrleriikei la fiad lodging ht 
man and hone, with food only for the lattrr. The Uavclleí Íi txpeclsd tu 



an imnuion. A. • m. 


«er of favou 


f ihíT 


*«Wo wil 




lurchau fooii far h¡> gu 


ut, ud hi> » 


fee»«r 


tonwk 


t i buc uiiuUjr the tnvclkr 


who would have (oDd in 


a SpiKiíh w 


HMOIU 


t brí»g ¡i 


with him. Thii Hai emn 


more Irue in Cervantc 


' da>> thin 


in DU 




ended gradual Ij to trai 


.form the -w 


nía intr 


thr«» 


or feudt. the pojáa Into 


be>^, the>aii int 


the "hotel.- 








> The AitDtianí, u 










1 86 







Don Ouixote 

, and the other not very sound. The elcgancc of her 
indeed, made up for aJl oiher defects ; there were noi 
hand-breadths from hcr feet to her head, and her 
shoulders, which somewhat overloaded her, made her look 
on the ground more than she liiced. This graceful lass 
then assisted the maiden, and the two made up a very sorry 
bed for Don Quíxote in a garret, which showed evident 
signs of havíng aerved in other days many years as a straw- 
loft.' In this room there aUo lodged a carrier, who had his 
bed a liitle way off from that of our Don Quixote, which, 
though ¡t was made of the pack-saddles and coverings of his 
mules, had much the advantage ovcr that of Don Quixote, 
which consisted but of four roughly-planed boards on two 
unequal trestles j a mattress which, in thínness, might be a 
quiit, full of knots which, had they not, through sundry 
renta, shown themselves to be of wool, would to the touch 
secm liltc pebbies in hardness ; a pair of sheets made of 
target leather, and a coverkt, the threads of which if 

' onc chose lo count, he could not miss one in the 

Jconing. 
I On this execrable bed Don Quixote iay down ; and 

sently the hostess and her daughter plastered him over 
1 hcad to foot, — ^Maritornes,' for so was the Asturiaii 

OBg lliDK atltd Jitn^uJuí, ftam having no oceipaC di pramineal back (a the 
" )r of ihe Piíarü Jatlimí 

beca liW by proce» of time, — ihe people of Aituriu, 
báni now u wcll furnülied iiehind the hcid u other Sp>aúrd>. 
a gradge againit the ooitbcraen, mi ii ncver w 
rún» md BUnyaní rídiculoui. 

¡D obtcrrcí hcTE, nthet ineptly, thil eichcr uüier diy> (ilrgí liatfa) 

^BUOlí jetn {mucim añsi) a fuperfluou», — ta iinpertíneot eoimnent for which 

be ii pniperly cotrcctcd by Calderón. Oa-ai rírmpui initicalcí the period a which 
itac giticl hid lened foi a biy-loCi ) nuclai aia iaiücitei [he duntíaa of ihit 

* MarítornB, whoae ñame hai lince, foi ill time to come, become a lynoDym 
fot uvera-wench or fothouK tnill. ii derívcd bolh b/ Bonle and Pellicer from 
the Freaeh. The Utter Kicci il lo Miüiarv, «vhich w» oíd Frcnch fot a bal 



» thia peculiaríty ír 



But CervantM 



Don Ouixote 



called, holding a Iight lo them ¡ and when she was pbster- 
ing him the hostess, seeing that he was ín places black and 
Mué, said that loolced more like blows than a fall. 

Blows thcy werc not, Sancho said, but the rock had 
many sharp points and knobs, and each one of them had lefi 
a weal ; and he added : — Pray, good mistress, spare some of 
ihat tow, as therc will be no waní of onc who needs it, fbr 
my loins, too, pain me a Uttle. 

— In that wise, answered the hostess, you must havc 
(kllen too. 

— I did not fall, said Sancho Panza, but from the suddcn 
fright I took on seeing my master fall, my body achea as if 
they had given me a thousand blows. 

— That may wcll be, cried the damsel, for many a dme 
has it happcned to me to dream that I was íalling from a 
high tower and never reaching the ground, and when I 
woke from my dream to find myself so shaken and bruíscd 
as though I had really fallen. 

—Therc is the point, mistress, repUed Sancho Panza, 
that I, without dreaming at al!, but being more wide 
awake than I am now, find myself with only a fcw 
bruiscs tess than my master, Don Quíxote. 

— What is this gentleman's ñame ? asiccd the Asturian, 
Maritornes. 

^Don Quixote of La Mancha, answered Sancho Panza, 
and he is a Knight Adventurer, and of the best and stoutest 
that havc been secn in the world these many long ages. 

- — What is a Knight Adventurer ? inquired the girl. 

— Are you so green in the world, answered Sancho 
Panza, as not to know that i Know you Üien, sister mine, 
that Knight Adventurer ís a thíng whích, in two words, ís 



mbe, DU!. 



ínur Franfaíi. Bul Clcmsidn mÚ 
, — ■ Chiwtiin mmt. Muía, líonblí 
e, quoting Méritna, Marimsrva, el 



Don Ouixote 



found cudgclled and an Emperor ; to-day he is ihc most 
miserable creature in the world and (he most needy ; 
to-morrow he will have his two or thrce crowns of king- 
doms to give to his squire. 

— ^How is it tíicn, said ihe hostess, that you, belonging 
to so good a master as this, have not, for aU that appears, 
evcn a countship ? 

— It is early yet, responded Sancho, for it is but a 
month' we are going looking for 'ventures, and till now we 
have not come across one that ¡s such ; ^ and sometimes it 
happens that one thing is looked for and another ís found ; 
ihough sure, if my master, Don Quixole, gets wcU of this 
wound or fitll, and I am not spoilt through it, I woutd not 
barter my hopes for ihc best title in Spain. 

To all this collotjuy Don Quixote Ustened very atten- 
tivcly, and sítting up in his bed as well as he could, he took 
the hostess's hand and said : 

— Believc me, beauteous dame, you may esteem yoursclf 
fortúnate in having enteriaincd in this your castle my person, 
which is such that if I praise it not it is becausc, as it is 
commonly said, self-praise vilifies ; but my squire will jnform 
~ who I am, Only this I say to you, that the servicc you 
rendcred me I ahall retain eternally inscribed in my 
lory, in order that 1 may be gratcful to you as long as 
my lifc shaU endure, Would that it had pleased high Heavcn 
that love held me not so cnlhralJed and subjcct to its lawa, 
and to the eycs of that fair ingrale^ (whose ñame I süently 
uttcr), that those of this beauteous damsel might be lords of 
my liberty. 

The hostess, her daughter, and the good Maritornes were 

' ll wu but thtce day*. obwrvo Ckmiacia. wbo » aothing if nal litcraL 
* Sancho pliiyi on the worili ivittturai, adwnlurci. and vaturm. wbicb lie 



* Adopting a (iTourilc 
■ hli iúth chiralric hobbir, Doa Quiíote uaea II 
M tüi bookt — aaylug^iMU for ÍrrwKia,fiiír fo 



d lofty la 



Don Ouixote 



confbundcd on hearing thcse words of thc Knight Errant, of 
which ihey undersiood as much as if he had spoken iti Grcek, 
though they gathered that they all ran in the way of compli- 
meJits and blandishincnts ; and not being used to this kind 
of language, they gazed on him and wondcred, for he seemcd 
to them a man othcr ihan those lo whom they were accus- 
tomed ; and thanicing h¡m for his complíments ín tavern-lilce 
phrases, they left him,- — the Asturian Maritornes giving her 
care to Sancho, who needed it no Icss than his mastcr. Thc 
carrier had arranged with her to take thcir pleasure togcthcr 
that night, and she had given htm her word that whcn the 
gucsts were at rest and her master and mistrcss asleep, she 
would go and seek him and salisty his desirc in all that he 
asked. And it ¡s told of this good lass that she ncver made 
promises of this kind without keeping them, cven though 
she made them Ín a forest, and without any witncss, for shc 
piqued herself on bcing a lady," and held it no disgrace lo be 
in that office of servant at thc inn, for she had been brought 
to that position, she said, by Ül-Iuck and misfortune, 

Thc hard, narrow, shabby, and treacherous bed of Don 
Quixote stood first in thc middle of thaC starry loft,* and 
near ¡t Sancho had made his own, which was merely com- 

' Priamia mij A liiJílga. Ccrvanín qiiiiief wbal wa Ihen, and Íi MÍI1. thí 
favoiirite Aiturían wcakncH af boiiting o( good b1i»d and gentilitf. Thc 
AiCuriu», II descendinn of thc pnte Gathi who re-eQDj)uend Sp«¡n fnm IÍm 
Moon, made (prcú! cbiio topnrity of tace. They wcrc Criaiami viíjpi y raima, 
— oíd ind nnic, — that ii, having no míiture of Jevr or Mihomfdan. The 
pirticulit poÍDl on which MarÍLom» ihowed her 1ady-Ii!te good fallh it ont ín 
which her coBQtrTwomai ilill pridc thcmitlva. 

* Eiviüiéi, that i>, lighted b; tbe itan, which ihonf (hroogh the ciadtt in 
the roof. Thc traniUCon have gone ittaagely ut¡ay ovcr ihia limpie word, 
with it> plaÍD meanjng, Sheltoa giveí it Dp iltogether ; Motteui mOut it 
'* wrctched aparlmeat ** \ Jarvit, talung atrtliaáí ín iU lecondary and fi^ntivfl 
(caK, «ay> "iUutUioni cock-loff'j Smollelt hai it "rniaoiu )uy-li>ft"| the 
Freachmuí Vuriiot retaini the «ente, bot turna h into íulgar proae — iti tfftrtt- 
meni íjS Tm vvfaic la íKÓla. Thii ii docription, not tnniUtioD. " Sur-lit " 
j> only > little better, beiag definítíve, wbere do ilelinitioii w» meant ot ii 

190 



HF.ló 



Don Ouixote 



posed of a rush mat and a blanket, which looked as if it were 
madc of tlireadbare cativas rathcr than of wool. After ihcse 
beds carne that of ihe carrier, made up, as we have said, of 
the pack-saddics and all tht trappings of the two best mutcs 
he drove, though they were a dozen, sieek, fat, and goodly, 
for he was one of the rich mulcteers of Arévalo, as the author 
of this hislory says, who makes particular mention of him, 
for he knew him very well, and they evcn suggest he was 
same kínsman of his,' besides which Cid Hamet Benengcti 
was a very carcful historian, and very exact in al] things ; 
and this can weti be seen, since those we have alrcady men- 
tioned he would not pass over in silence, minute and trivial 
at they werc; and by thís those grave historíans may take 
example who tell us of actions so briefly and succinctly that 
wc hardly get a taste of them, Icaving in the ink-horn, from 
negíigence, or perverseness, or ignorance, the most substaniíal 
part of the work. A thousand times blessed he the author 
f Túblante de Rieamonte^ and he of the other book wherein 



p Tbe muleteen ia thoie diyi wcre voy com 
a whicb ܻt pencculed peoplc could ad 
for their fiith, being by Üicir vocatíon coc 

reíate freed from the neceiiity of going to ma 
iloymelil wu wught va oiia to glve tht Morí 



I. It i> probable, itio, t 

icoei an opportunity of m 

ideL of holding correapondr 

I- wWi Mihomntaní abroad. Ai a proof of how compltttly (he Xnáe of cat 

Li in the huidí of the Moruioea, Pellicer citei a coolempotiry documenl wli 

■Aua thit the expulsión of that pcople had the effect of tiiiíag the coit 

nspon of goodi between Madrid and Seville from 4 ind 5 nali an arroba 



■ ; * 

or five thouiiad. Arévalo i> ■ 

belw«en ViJladoÜd and Avila, w 

* TtiimH ii Rkamwt, a » 



t* af the Bretón period. The hi 



[d Calille, QQ the Aduja, h: 
IB a rapt palice. now ín nCa 
igly atcribed by Clemencin 
■ar lo the Boolu af Chíval: 



wltli Ihe Knighti of the Round Table. After many 
i fliuUjí ovcrUiiovfB by Jofre, cae of Afthur't luñghti, and e 



Don Ouixote 



are rclated thc deeds of the Coum Tomilias,' — wíth what 
minuteness do ihcy describe c^eryíhing I 

I say, ihen, that the carrier, after he had visiied bis team 
and given them ihcir second fced, stretched himself on hÍ8 
pacL-saddlcs, and lay cxpectiiig his punctilious Maritornes. 
Sancho was already plastcred and bedded, and thaugh he 
tricd to sleep, the pain of his ribs would not let him, whilc 
Don Quixoie with thc pain of his own had his eycs open 
like a haré. The whole inn was ín silence, and tJiere was 
no other light in ¡t but ihai given by a lamp which huog 
burning in thc middic of the porch. This wondqrful still- 
ness and the thoughts which continually possessed our 
Knight of the incídents which at every stcp are retatcd in 
the books of the authors of his affliction, brought into his 
imagination one of thc strangest delusions whtch can wcll 
be conccived, which was that he fancied himself to have 
arrived at a &mous castle (for, as wc havc said, all the inns 
he lodged in were castles to his mind), and that che daughtcr 
of thc innkceper was the daughier of thc lord of thc castle, 
who, overeóme by his graccs, had fallen enamuured of him, 
and had agreed that, without the privíty of her parents, she 
would come to lie with him for a spacc that night. Taking 
all this chimera he had framed íbr real and solid, he began 
to be dístressed, aitd to meditaie upon the perilous strait in 

Gayuígoa afürmí Üiat, id far from bííng diMinguiíhcd fur pirtinlarity mil 

Pabapa, u no ddc appeaK lo hsve icen tlie nrigioil cdlliuní cif ToMe, i^ij 
■nd 1526, thc venion now ciUnt (it ii onf of thc booki which ii (tiU reprlnud 
for papular ote) H only i campiliIiDn. 

' NoDc of [he olitcr cditon 01 critica ttaa to han Icnown aaythia| of (Ui 
penonage. Cletntnda had never leen auch i bosk, and Sadt thc oaau Tonúlla 
only in aome of thc Carlovingiía hallada. Giyangoi hit, hoWFvcr, íincc ihe 
poblialion of hii Uéra Ji Catailoias, uocarthed i rarc cid toaantx, Don EirijM 
Fi Jt Oirat, printcd al ScvJIlc. in I4f 8, of wlüeb tbere ii a lopy in thc tinpctial 
Libriry at Vienna. In il lh< Conde Tomillai Íi ooc of ihc leid 

thc cm of Ddd Paicntl de Gapagoi in 1)174. 
192 




Don Quixote 



which his viriue faund itself, and he resolved in his heart to 
commil no treason to his lady, Dulcinea del Toboso, even 
though the Queen Guinevere herself, with her duenna 
Quínuñona, should present themselves before him. While 
be was absorbed in thcse fancies, the time arrived and the 
hour — an unlucky one for hira — of the Astunan's coming, 
when she, in her smock and bare feet, with her hair trussed 
up in a fustian net,i with soft and wary steps, entered the 
chamber where the three werc lodged, In quest of the carricr, 
But she hiá hardly reached the door when Don Quixote 
perceived her, and sitting up in the bed in spitc of hia 
plasters and the paín of his ríbs, he stretched forth hÍ9 arms 
to reccive his beauteous damsel. The Asturian,'' as she 
went crouching and silently groping wilh her hands for her 
lover, fcU into the arms of Don Quixote, who seized her 
tightiy by the wrist, and drawing her towards him, she not 
daring to speak a word, made her s¡t down ori the bed. He 
then feit her smock, and, although it was of sackcloth, it 
seemcd to him to be of the fincst and most delicate samite.* 

' /l¡Sa<u¡a Ji Juiun. Alkn«ga ii dcseribcil Uy Covartubia> ai a mund nei 
wbich womíD worc their hiJr wbu tu JíMilli. The word i> lioffl the 
CerviDtn ¡a Úüi piiHge wai evidmllj' ihÍDlting of Ihe enninouied 
a BeUiliiu, who, with no mote opon hir than Miritoma h»d, cime wilb 
n nel, gwniíhtd with precioui itone» which ipírltled lo ■• lo diípliy her 
— ui miyftmau rairUa,—a.t dnd of oight to Ihe chamber whcre 
1 noiÍMO ilept. of. which adventare the retoU wu tlie fimoui knight 

* The punctnation in all the otri eiiitioat leenu ta be detective in ihíi 
(; time battg DO ttap between fermeía Janallit md la Airítriana, 1 have 
A whit teemí the bclter poÍDting of HarUenbuich. 
■ Cuiáál, wbieb I híTc reodered by the myjtíc "ismíle," wii a veiy fine 
; origÍDally of líLk, probably of Eaitem arigin, ai the word it Arabíc. 
■ hu a paiugc in hii Luiitdi, quoled by Bowle, where Venuí it repre- 
Mtiled u ckithcd ¡B the ninr : 

Cuai delgado eendal ai piitet cobre 

Di quon vetgonh» he nalutal reparo, 

Patém Dcm (uilc c* CKondc, arta dncobre. 

—Oi LuüaJai, aaU 1. 

Í93 '3 




Don Ouixote 



She wore on faer wrists somc beads of g!ass, but to him ibejr 
gave forth the shecn of precious Oriental pearls. Her hair, 
which in somc wise resembled a horse's mane, he toóle fbr 
threatls of the most resplendent gold of Araby, whosc 
effutgence obscurcd tbat of ihe sun himself; hcr breath, 
which doubticss reeked of the siale salad of the night before,* 
seemed to shed from her lips a sweet aromatic perfume ; and, 
in fine, he painted her in his imaginación after the very form 
and model he had read of in his books of the alher princess, 
who carne, conquercd by love, to visit her sorely-wounded 
knight, with all the charms hcre noied.* And so great was 
the poor gentleman's blíndness ihai neitber the touch, ñor 
the breath, ñor the other things tbe good damsel had about 
hcr could undeceive him, although ihese might turn the 
stamach of any onc not a carríer. Rather he bcHeved ihat 
he held in his arnts the Goddess of Bcauty ; and holding 
her very tight, in a low and amorous volee he began to 
say: 

— Would that I foimd myself, beauteous and exaltcd 
lady, in a posltion to be ablc to return so great a favour 
as thts which the visión of your exceedíng lovelineas bas 

ToinyMn hu the ume ida : 



AiáüirB, wck-dath, ii llie cosnat bempsi iiiclciiif;. 

' Etiulaií fimbrt y aaauxkadi. "Stalr sitt üih icícrvcd from oí 
SbeltOD mika iL EaulaJe mEina not oaly uliJ, bul fao^iie ■ podgc, ■ mnllfy I 
of mut iDd TCgftiblc^ itapcd in oil ind viüFgar, eiich u Macilomo' anntiynMD I 
ddighl in — tfae oil rtncid from choicc, ind niiy ajaiii, 

* Thii Dthcr inincc» wu probibly ihc Infanli Bclidlos, mailioaeil ■bo're^ sr 
tbe tnfanti Eipinelí, or the Dacucl oí the Caille ía Awuiáii ef Cruu, ot ume I 
othei of the miny high-bom Buiclcni who purtook of Mirítoniei' infinnit)r. ' 
and viiited thejf Iotoi, coinguercd by love. In ihe older cditioni of the Dii|iiiil, I 
the woíd ii vnrido, which woald imply thit it wii the {^ilcnun loaghl wbo I 
«u concjueríd» bul T btve idoptcd Clcmfiicin'* rendiug of vnciiÍM, convinccd b 
bii u-eumcnt thit il i> dculy the Udy who Ji tonijuered, 



. i6 Don Ouixote 



conferred on me, but Fortune, who is never weaiy of 
persecming the good, hath pleased to lay me on thís bed, 
whereon I lie so bruised and brokcn that, though of my will 
I would desire to satisfy yours, yet is it impossibte.i And, 
moreover, to this impossibility is added anocher yet greater, 
which is, the plighted faith I have given to the peerless 
Dulcinea del Toboso, solé lady of my most secret thoughts. 
Did iiot this intervene, I would not be so dull a Knight as 
to let slip this happy opportunity in which your great bounty 
hath placed me. 

Maritornes was in a mortal agony and sweat at fínding 
hcrself thus caught by Don Quixote, and without compre- 
hending or heeding bis address, tried to free hcrself wíthout 
spealcing a word. As for the worthy carrier, whom his evil 
desjres had kcpt awaice, he was sensible of hís lady-love from 
the moment she entered the door, and listened attentively 
to all that Don Quixote said. Jealous that the Asturian 
should have failed in her word to him for anocher, he drew 
closer to Don Quixote's bed, and stood stiü to see whither 
that speech might tcnd which he was unable to understand. 
Bul when he saw that the lass struggled to free herself, and 
that Don Quixote strove to detain her, not retishing the 
jcsi, he raised his arm and dealt so terrible a blow at the 
meagre jaws of the enamoured Knight that he baihed all his 
mouth with blood ; and not concent with this, he mounted 
on top of his riba aiid trampled them under his feei at a trot 
from end to end. The bed, which was somewhat crazy and 
not ovcr firm in its supports, unable to bear the addition of 
the carrier, carne to the ground with him ; at the mighty 
crash of which the iimkeeper awoke, and at once guessed 

p Thcrc »e not wanliag pitccdcnu for DoQ Quliale'i hebavioi» in luch i 
kt dtuitloB. Ami'lii of GiidI give a (imílir proof of hii loyilty to Oríina, 

■Ñbjr he w» ectbltd lu iccompliih hippit;^ the advenlurc af Üie Grcen Sword 

I. Ixvli.). Evcn Bcliinú of Grtttt, aa 

' ' ' • prioccu on likc provacitioa. 

■95 



Don Quixote 



that this was one of Maritornes' pranks, fbr calling to her 
loudly she ilíd not answer. Wjth this idea he gol up, and 
lighdng a lamp proceeded to where he had heard the scuffle. 
The wench, seeing her masier coming, and knowing him 
to be of a terrible temper, aU féarful and scared, fled foT 
refuge to the bed of Sancho Panza, who was now asieep, and 
there ensconccd rolled hcrself up in a ba!l. The innlcceper 
carne in, cryíng out : — Where art thou, trollop ? I warraní 
me these are thy tríeles. 

At this Sancho awoke, and feeling that big lump almost 
on top of him, thought that he had the nigbtmare, and began 
to lay about with his fists on cither side i and among the 
rest not a few of his blows reachcd Maritornes, who, smarting 
with the pain, flung asidc all decorum, and pa¡d Sancho 
bactt with so many that she awoke him in spite of himself. 
Finding himself thus handied, and not knowing by whom, 
he raised himself as well as he could, and grappled with 
Maritornes, and they commenced betwecn the two the 
(iercest and drollest battie in the world. The carricr, 
seeing by the líght of the host's lamp the plíght his lady wa4 
in, quittcd Don Quixote and rjn to give her tlic help she 
needed ; the innkeeper did the same, but with a difiisrent 
intention, for his was to chastise the girl, bcing persuadcd 
that she alone was the cause of all that harmnny. And SO, 
as the saying is, the cat to the raC, the rat to the stríng, 
the string to the stick.' The carrier pummelled Sancho^ 
Sancho the wench, the wench him, and the ¡nnkceper 
her, and they all rang the changes so actively that 
they gave themselves not a moment's rest ; and the bcM 
of it was that the innkeeper's lamp went out, and being 
Icft in the dark they bclaboured one another so unmcrci- 
fu&y all in a heap as not to leave a sound spot where thelr 
hands fcU. 

> A nuriCTy jingle, o( the ume ümil; » thil of Che OH Won 
Pig 1 — " Buteher, huichei, be»t dog j rfog won't wony e»l," el 
196 



IcMAP. i6 Don Ouixote 

There happened to be lodging that night in the inn one 
of the officers of thoac they cali the Ancient Ho\y Brotbcr- 
hood of Toledo,^ who likewise hearing the extraordinary din 
of the battle, seized his staif and his tin box of warrants, and 
entcred the room in the darlmess, callíng out : — Hold, In the 
ñame of justice ! Hold, in the ñame of the Holy Brothcr- 
hood ! — The first he carne across was the well - pummelled 
Don Quixotc, who lay stretched on bis shattered bed, with 
bis chin in the air, wíthout any sign of hfe ; and his hand 
^ing on the knight's beard as he feh about, the officer 
ceased not to cry, — Help, in the ñame of justice ! — but, find- 
ing that he whom he had hold of neithcr stirred ñor brcathed, 
he concluded it was a dead man, and that ihose within ihere 
wcre his murderers. In this belief he raised his voice still 
higher, crying : — Shut the inn gate ! See that none go out, 
Ibr they have killed a man here j 

This cry startled them all, and each quitted the battle ac 
the moment the voice reached him. The innkeeper retircd 
to his room, the carrier to his packs, the wench to her crib ; 
the ili-starred Don Quixote and Sancho alone were imable 
lo budge from where they lay. The officer now let go of 
Don Quixote's beard,' and went out to look for a light in 
order lo search for and sccure the delinquents ; but he could 
find none, for the innkeeper had designcdly put out the lamp 
as he retreated to his room. He was therefore compelled to 

• CáUeii Ihe olA Hoiy Brotherhood. which wm «tíbliihcd in ihc ibirttínüi 
ceacnry, to iliitioguiah it (rom ihc □«#, iaititated ¡a the niga of Fcrdbund and 
ItabcUi. Tbe fonner, of which tbe chlcf Kat wu Toledo, hsd for itt epeciil 
voCUioD [he putling doWD of highwaymen, and wii en^owd with iptcial powen 
□r «URUiury jurifldictíon, malefacton caught rcd-hiadcd being ihoc Co death vrjth 
irrom. St< cbi. x. tai iiü. 

* Here we ue that Doa Quíiote. u welt u hi> iqm», wqte i beird, u, 
ÍBilMd, vu the uni>enil fuhion of the ige. Befare the leign of Chula V. the 
Spiaiifli viote long hiir ind ao beardi. Chiileí let the fitbioa of thott hur 

1 bará, which eiítled till the time of Philip IV^ when the beirili weie 
i, mi only whiikei» and ihin-tuft wom. The irtiiti nearly alwayí nuke 
m Qointe tai Saacbo bnrdleH. 

'97 




Don Ouixote 



lave reootirsc to the firepkce, whence, after much time and 
trouUc, be lit another bmp.' 



: a( paíecl 



-uitfiíl aourec and patcnt of ■ 




PelliiH, who Uke ««ption lo it, ii calculíied to te 
.OBI milcr." Il wDuld be, pohipi, aeedleu Id apologñc 
1 ftagile u to recave injiay from 
Of lU Ihe writeti of Üiit tgc.- — oay, of laj 
minilcd and cloal)' ii CcTvantct, who, onlíke nuny of hü 



(vcn tlioK of hoty oBia lílu Lope d< 
Oot of bW wty to tttk for fíLth bol poiici ft by wbcn 
fo te praof of Lhü beroad tbc prooil diiptet, thc I 



.ri, ■ 



n bi> way. Wc neeá ncC 

O» %/™.. 

ih of lite and blood ind colon 
tW hn firrct wilh iti icarvy fumitiuc, thc cbu»<tai eich cnilawtd by a f«w 
■Mlttrif MLcha with a diitÍDct individuilxij ; tbe knight lytng ñit OQ fot a 
pdU with til " ey» opeo Ukc a hjrt " ; Sincho donbled up on thi ttoor hy bs ( 
Me ¡ Ú* cmia oa hii mnle-bagí, the iraicibir úmkrepH', the tmll Maritoinat, 
— düy «W »E1 reproduccd bcfore our eyei, and Uve lod mpVí in a real ilmoiphefe, 
likc the pcnonagea m ou of the grat pctnra of Velaa^ncb 



>98 



CHAPTER XVII 



I orí cantlnued tki 

Don ^uixole and hit ge 

in the inriy vjhich, to hit 



nnumerablí traubUt which the trove 
goad squire Sancho Panza endurtd 



r, h< iookfor a easile 



Now by this time Don Quixote had come to himself out of 
his swoon 1 and in the like tone of voice in which he had 
called to his squire the day before, when he lay stretchcd in 
the Valley of the Stakes,^ he began calling him, crytng ; — 
Suicfao, friend, art asieep ? art asieep, friend Sancho \ 

— How should I sleep ? replied Sancho, fiíll of rage and 
bitterness ; beshrew me if I don't think that a!l the devíls 
have been about me to-night. 

— Well mayst thou so bclieve, answered Don Quixotc ; 
for cither 1 am a fbol or this castle is enchanied,* Thou 



te of the Viltcy of [he SUlua bu aever bao idcntíficd. From íntemal 

t, tbc balUd appcan Id be one of tlie muit lacicnt of Ehaie rebting to 

» numha 750 ín ihe eollcction of Duran (vo!, I p. 491), who 

9 tsotbs-, brgiiuiiDg with tbe lime líoe, from Timoneda'i Bma EifaOiJa, 

■ difféieni lubjttt and 1 more mailera lir. Herc, ai Üiroughant Che 

tue made by Cfrvuita af phriiei ind iltutiooi from the Ditioail 

I, pram ooE oa\y hit □' 



kdu «itcat to which [hcy hid mUrcd inli 
9 EBchiBlsd cuileí, — culis where wiii 



I (peccb of Ihe people. 
9 abode, or wherci if the Kstght 



> imiDediaidy caugbt in a ccip, or tipned la dtagont, o 



Don Ouixote 



must know, — but ihis that I tell thee thou must >wear to 
keep secret until aftcr tay deatb. 

— Yes, I swear, quoth Sancho. 

— I say so, rcplicd Don Quixoic, because I am oppoHd 
to the taking away of anj-body's reputation. 

— I say yes, I do swear, again said Sancho, that I wiD be 
silent about it till the da)*» of your worship be endcd ; and 
God send I may be ablc to Ict ¡t out to-morrow. 

— Have I wrought ifaee so much hanii, Sancho, answered 
Don Quixote, as that thou sbouldsi wish to see me dead ao 
sooní 

— It is not for tbat, rcplied Sancho, but because i am 
opposed to kceping tfaings long, and would not have tbem 
rot tbrough being over-kept. 

— Lct it be íoT what it may, said Don Quixote ; fot I 
have grcater trust in thy love and thy courtesy ; and ihere- 
fore I wouid have thce know that therc has bcíállen me this 
night one of the strangcst adventures upon which I could 
plume myseír; and to relate it to thee in brief, know that a 
littlc while ago there carne to me the daughter of tlie lord of 
thís castle, the most elegant and lovely damsel that can be 
fotmd over ihe grcater part of the earth. What might I teU 
thec of the gracefulness oí her person ! What of hcr 
sprighily wit ! What of thosc hidden things which, that 1 
may preserve the fealty I owe to my lady Dulcinea del 
Toboso, I wiU pass over uniouched and in silcnce I Only 
ihis I will idl thee that Heavcn, cnvious of tbe grcat bliai 
which Fortune had put into my hands j or perhaps, — and 

oc oüíei doiÍdus creiturcí, or maitc to rúnl iwty till be wii tfoiled of bi> 
innont or h» china, oí ihnl ap ia ■ duageon nnlil fncfa tinu! u the <lcli*(ra' 
ame in the pciuD of tbc oppoutc migiciin, or iiime ftiraHj ICsight r m n»* 

chifalry- A leadiog initincc ii tiut ín the Orhmán Furian, wbmr the sichinM 
Atlu hu coiutruned b]- bit arta ■ cuUe in the P)TeDee9, in which wat k(pt 
RngKiao, wiib nuny kníghti and lidia of diitinction, unlil rrluied by Brjd«- 
oíanle. [Or/anJt fW-ieír, canl. Iv.) 

200 



Don Ouixote 



CHw. t7 

this is more probable, — this castíe, as I have said, beíng 
enchanted, at the hour when I was wíth hcr in most swcet 
and atnorous converse, there carne, without my being able to 
sce or know whence it carne, a hand atcachcd to some arm of 
some' prodigious giant, and fetched me a buffet on the jaws 
in such a sort that I have them al] bathed in bbod ; and 
afterwards pummelled me so that I am now in worse case 
than yesterday when the carríers, on account of Rozinante's 
intemperance, did us the injury thou knowest of. Whence 
I conjccture that some wJzard Moor must be guarding the 
treasure of this damsel's beauty and that it should not be for me. 

— Ñor for me either, answered Sancho ¡ for more than 
four hundred Moors have been so basting me that the pound- 
ing of the pack-siaves vras tarts and gingerbread to it.' But 
teU me, Sir, how cali you this fine and rare adveniure, which 
ba£ left US out of It in sudí plighl as we are ? Your worship, 
í' ñith, was better off, for you had in your arms that incom- 
parable bcauty you spoke of i but as for me, what had I but 
the biggcst basting I expect to get in all my hfe. Wretched 
me, and the mother that bore me, for I am neither Kníght 
Errant ñor ever look to be one, yet of all ihose cursed 
erran tries, the largest part falls to my share. 

— Then thou hast been beaten too ? enquired Don 
Qrnxo». 

— Have I not told you I was ?— a curse on my race, cried 

cho. 

— Ncvcr mind ¡t, friend, said Don Quixote, for I wil! 
now compound the precious balsam, with which vfe shaJt be 
cured ¡n ihe twinlcling of an eyc. 

The officer having by this time lighted bis lamp, came to 
see him whom he supposed to be dead, and as soon as Sancho 
saw him enter, arraycd in a shirt and n¡ght-cap, wíth ihc 

' 'Ttrui ¡/ fin finraáe — * proísihi»! phraK, uf andan and frajuai 



Pt» finrnáí wai m a 
inbnad nied lo be il Gnglith fair 



>ad gold, .< 



Don Quixote 



larop in bis band, and a vcry cvil counienancc, Ete asked bit 
mastcr ;— ^Sir, will this by chance be ihc wizard Moor who 
comes back to tormcnt us, if so be thai therc is anything Idt 
for bim to finísh ? ' 

— Tbe Moor ít cannot be, returned Don Quixote j íw 
cbosc under cnchantment nevcr Ict ibeinsclves be seco of 
any onc. 

— If they don't let themsclves be seco, they let tbemsclvcs 
be felt, satd Sancho ; and let my shoulders spcak. 

— Mine also could speak, responded Don Quixote, but 
ihís is no sufficient token that he whom we see is the wizard 
Moor. 

The officer carne up, and iinding ihern ihus calmly di»- 
coursing, stood amazed. Don Quixote, íijdeed, still hj ñce 
upward without being ablc to stir, through shecr poundtng 
and plastering. 



' go« 11, 



The ofEcer carne to Iiim, and said ; — ^Well, how 
my good íéllow ? ' 

— I would speak more politely, if I werc you, answered 
Don Quixote ; is it the custom in this country, lout,' to 
speak in that way to Kiiights Erraní ? 

The officer findíng himself thus rudciy addressed by z 
man of such sorry appearance, lost patience, and raísing hia 
lamp full of oil brought it down upon Don Quixote'» head, 
so as to leave him a broken pace, and a)l beíng in darkness, 
thcn departed, Quoih Sancho : — Without doubt, Sír, tbts 
is the wtzard Moor ; and he must be keeping the ireasurc 
For others and for us blows and lampings.* 



' St H lUji algt tu 
ink-hom." 

' Cemí «d, harn Áamiri f Don QuUole 
phrite, Búa hnKkn » only Uled bj ■ lupcli 

* Afii/*iirff— liten II)', • " pe»tlc," frooi lu 
ihil they cali a laol ma]aácrc Iccauíc he ii blu 



> — litcrilly, "if tbere ñ uything Icfc ia Üu 



ligbl wcU mml tbe too bauliar 

rr, to pouDfL 'Covimibíaa eipUiai 

1 af Hgc ■■ the pcMlc ii. Shdtea, 

n Toububry, hii ít " boRl<>-b>*d," 

Word colDcd by the uthat. 



Don Ouixote 



— It is cver so, answercd Don Quixote, and we must take 
no nolice of thesc things of enchantment, ñor must we be 
angry or vexed with them, for sínce they are invisible and 
^ntastical, we shall find no one on whom to take vengeancc, 
however we may try. Rise, Sancho, if thou canst, and cali 
ihe constable of this fortress, and try to get him to give me 
a little wine, oil, salt, and rosemary, to prepare the salutifer- 
ous balsam, of which verily I believe that I have now much 
need, for there comes much blood from the wound which 
this phantom hath dealt nte. 

Sancho aróse, not wíchout much aching of his bones, and 
crcpt in the darle to where the innkeeper was, and encounter- 
ing the officer, who was standing there listening how it fared 
with his enemy, said to him; — My lord, whoever you may 
be,' do U3 the fávour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, 
oil, sale, and winc, for ihey are wanted to cure one of the 
bcst Knights Errant there is in the world, who lies in yonder 
bcd, sorely wounded at the hands of the Moorish enchanter 
whu is in ihis inn. 

When the officer heard this he took him for a man out 
of his wits, and as ihe day had now begun to dawn, he opened 
tht inn door, and calling to the host, told him what that 
poor fellow aakcd for. The innkeeper supplied him with 
what he xtfanted, and Sancho carried it to Don Quixote, who 
iay with his hands to his head, groaning with the pain from 
the bmping, which, however, had done him no worse harm 
than to raise a couple of greai lumps ; what he took for blood 
being no other than the sweat which he had sweated during 
the anguish of the late tempest. In fine, he took h¡s simples, 
of which he made a compound, mixing them togethcr, and 



m itnick with the tbíog to which it 






u bastSfíamo, — from w 



:t the luppOMd eochaní 



■ be eapaUc of raiiing i Uugh " 



n the «cond penon 
e itfTD Clemencia DiiUails, dediriag 



1 ihe boiom of melancholy henclC" 



Don Quixote 



boiling thcm a good whiie, uniü they seemed to him tobe 
done [o a turn. He then asked for a phial inlo which to 
pour ít, but as there was not one in the inji, he decidcd to 
pour it into a cruse or tin vessel of oil, of which the host had 
made hím a free gift ; he then rcpeated over the cruse more 
than fourscore fater-noiUrs^ and as many ave-marias^ tahits, 
and credoj, accompanyíng each word w¡th the sign of a cross, 
in the manner of a bencdiction -, • at all which thcre were 
present Sancho, the innkeeper, and the ofEcer, for the cairier 
was now quietly gone off to attcnd lo ihc comfort of hts 
mules. 

This being done, Don Quixote would at once make 
experiment on himself of the virtue of that precioua balsam, 
as he imagined ic to be ^ and so he dranlc ofT about a quart* 
of what the cruse could not contain, which had temained ih 
the pot in which it had been boiled ; and harJly had he got 
it down, when he began lo vomit in such a way as thal 
nothing was left in bis stomach, and througb the straining 
and the shaking of ihe vomit he brought on hioosclf a very 
copious sweat, for which he hade them cover h¡m up and 
leave him alone. This they did, and he sicpt for more than 
three hours ; at the end of whicb he awokc and found hill^ 
sclf so greatly reüeved in body and so much better of Us 
bruises, that he took himself to be cured, and vcrily believed 
that he had hit upan the Balsam of Fierabrás ; and witb 
such a remedy he might hcnceforth encountcr, without any 
fear, any havock,* battles and fhtys, however pcrílous t" "^ 
might be. 

Sancho Panza, who also took his master's recovery I 



* Cali ittidia jrumhrt. .AvíHih] 
genetjlly uied for wioe, ú c^ual lo 

' ««,«,, Citratncin ...eg»i> , 
Bnt I Ke no rraion (br departiiif f 






about balf ID Eagllili pilan. 



Don Ouixote 



míracle, begged that he might have what was leit in the pot, 
which was no small quainity, Don Quixote consenting, he 
toóle the pot in both hands and with good faith and even a 
betier will, tossed it down, swallowing very litile less ihan 
his master had done. It happened, however, that poor 
Sanclio's stomach was nol so dclicace as his master's, and so, 
bcforc his vomiting, he suffered such qualma and pangs, such 
coid sweats and feintings, that he believed verily and truly 
that his last hour had come, and ñndíng himself so afflícted 
and tormraited, he cursed the baisam and the thief who had 
given í[ him. 

Don Quixote, seeing him in this plight, said : — I bclíeve, 
Sancho, that a!l this harm comes to thee through nol being 
dubbed a ICnight, for I am persuaded that this liquor may 
not bencfii him who ¡s not ene. 

—Ifyour worship knew that, replied Sancho, bad luck to 
me and all my kin, why did you let me taste it ? 

Here the drench took effcct, and ihe poor squire began to 
discbarge through both channels with such violence that 
neither the rush mat on which he had again thrown himseír, 
ñor the canvas rug he had to cover him, were any more of use. 
He sweated and strained with such paroxysms and shivenngs 
that not only himself but thcy all thought that his lifc was 
being ended, This storm and trouble lasted ncarly two 
houra, at ihe end of which he was left, not bctter lilce his 
master, but so shaken and shattered that he was unable to 
stand. 

But Don Quixote, who, as has been said, felt himself 
relieved and well, would sel oíFat once in qucst of adventurcs, 
thinking that all the while he larried there he was depriving 
the world and all who were distressful there of his fávour and 
protcction, and the more because of the trust and confidence 
he had in his babatn ; and so urged by this impube, he 
mddled Rozinante himself, and put the pack-saddle on hís 
squirc's beast, whom he alao helped to dress and lo mount 
205 



Don Ouixote 



ihe ass. He then got on horscback, and rídJng up to a comer 
of the inn, seized hold of a pike which siood there to sene 
him fÓT a lance. All tbat were in the inn, who were more 
than twenty persons, stood observing him ; the innk.eepcr's 
daugbter also was looking on, — neither did he take his eye» 
ofF hcr, and ever and anón he would heave a sigh whicb he 
seemcd to pluck from out of the depths of his bowels, ihey 
a!i thinking that it carne from the pain he fcit in his ril», at 
Icast those who had seen him plaslercd the night befet«. 
When they were boih mounicd, Don Quixote, standing by 
the inn gate, called to the host, and ín a very grave and 
mcasured voice saíd to him : 

— Many and very great are the favoui^ Sir Constable, 
which in this your castle I have received, and I rcmain under 
the deepest obligation to be grateful to you fbr them all the 
days of my life. If I am able to repay you by avenging you 
on some proud miscreant who may have done you any wrong, 
know that my ofHce is no other tlian to proteci the hclpless, 
to avenge those who are oppressed, and to piuitsh treasoiu. 
Ransack your memory, and if you find anything of this son 
to commend to me, you have but to utter it, and I prooiise 
you by the order of Knighthood which I have received, to 
procure you satisíaction and reparation lo your full contcnt. 

The innkeeper answered him wíth Uke graviiy: — Sir 
Knight, I have no nced that your worship should avenge me 
any wrong, for I know how to take the revenge I desire 
when they do me wrong. All I want is that your worship 
should pay me the score you have run up this nigbt in my 
inn ; both for the siraw and the barley of your two beasta 
and your supper and beds. 

—Then this is an inn > said Don Quixote. 

— Ayc, and a very respectable onc, reptíed the host. 

— All this lime, then, I have bcen deceived, said Don 

Quixote ; for in truth I thought it was a castle, and no mean 

one ; but since it is thus, that it Js no castle but an inn, all 

206 



Don Ouixote 



that can now be done is that yon should absolve me of v 
payment, for I cannot contravene the rule of Knights Errant, 
ofwhom I know for certa! n (without having read anything 
hitbeno to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging or 
aught else in the inns where they stayed;^ for all good 
reccption offered them is iheir due by righi and law in 
requital of ihe intolerable toil they endured while seelcing 
advcntiires by night and by day, in winter and in summcr, 
on fúot and in the saddie, in hunger and thirst, in heat and 
cold, exposed to all the indemcncics of heaven and all the 
hardships of earth. 

— All that is no añáir of mine, retorted the innkeeper ; 
pay me what you owe me, and have done with your tales and 
your chivalries ; for my only business is to get my money. 

—You are a fool and a vilc hosteler,^ returned Don 
Quixote, — And clapping bis heels to Roziname and brandish- 
ing his lance, he rodé forth out of the inn before any one 
could stop him ; and without waiting to Eee if his squire was 
following him, he went offa good distance. The innkeeper, 
whcn he saw him go without paying, ran up to get hts due 
ÍTom Sancho Panza, who said that as his master would not 
pay neither wouU he py, for being the squire of a Knight 
Errant as he was, the same reason and rule held for him as 
for his master, in respect of never paying at taverns and 
The innkccp>er got very angry at this, and threatened 






: Uka the troubJe to poinl out thal Don Qníiotc wii miiIalceD, qvat- 
Mer^amt Mnigkrc in proof thü koíghlt wcre üiblc for thdi Umrd 
lodgíog, Motgantí once hivíog lo Inve bii hone in pledge fai ihe tetkon- 
ing, having no money (JffwjBHlt Maggiari, cmit, li]. Bat the Morgana 
Ma[¡arr wii do ktíou» book of cbívilry, — ratfad ■ baclu^nci ani m tbii vcry 
puHgc OÍ Polci the pnclice of Orlimlo ii quoCed : 

Che (aleí tempte dar buloni 6 ipide 



9 ¡hitaUn, *UirenatÍTe of luifiu¡in,—ii aatique word, little ii 
a imgbl wcll take for en opprobrioui aime. 
I j vtnut. The luán [•ndim] ii diiiingviihed from 
207 



Don Ouixote 



if Sancho did not pay up, to get it from h¡m in spitc of 
bis teeth. To which Sancho repücd ihat by tlie order of 
Knighthood which his master had received, he would not 
give a single doit,' though ic cost him his life, for thcrc 
should not be ínfrínged through him the great and andent 
usage of ICnights Errant, ñor should the squires of those who 
had to come into the worid complain of him or rcproacb him 
fbr the breaking of so just a iaw. 

The cvil star of the unhappy Sancho so wrought it th« 
among the people who were stopping at the ¡nn werc tbund 
four wool-combers of Segovia,* thrce necdle-makers from the 
Colt-Square of Cordova, and a couple of the dwrllcrs in the 
Market of Sevüle,* all merry fellows, wcll-mindcd, mis- 
chievous, and frolicsome, who, almost as if instigated and 
moved by one and the same impulse, madc up to Sancho^ xnd 
puUing him olf his ass, one of ihem ran for the bost's bkokei 
and flung him into it ; but looking up and seeing tbal the 

bcing m 1 town or villuge. wheFe» ihe owdi ii in ihe counlr;, oa «onií bíghway. 
The actommaditiun proviJed ii Üie ume, — namely, lodging for [he tiíwjlíl ud 
iDdging mil fceJ far híi cittle, the «irnni Dfiiiutikiag 10 a»k ihc guot'l taoa 
ifrojiiiMd. 

' Un kJi añada, (rom ctmñadc, — « toin cnncnt from the thirtteoth to tkc 
ñgbteoith coitury ; in choM diya fquivilent lo ooe->Íitli af i mara^táit whioh, 
tfae meravedi bcing the thirty-raorth pin of t rio!, wonld be e>|uil ta Iba 
bimdrcdth pirt of a penny. 

• PiraUa Jt Stgrtna—ptriiUa for fiiahíi. Sigevu wai tlic gieit «at of dll 
Woollen manufacture in the diyi of Cervanta. now dcayed, The rivM Etatat, 
hy which íc a encircled oa three lido, wat iuppoaed to Nrniah ■ pceulbr water 
fór waol-waihing. Sce Ford, vaJ. ü. p. I19 (edil, of 1^45]. 

■ The Cott-Squve (£/ Fairi) oí Cerdova bu been alicady ipokrD of in ch. ÍS. 
U wat ID cilJeil fiom the ñgsre of a cale whkh itooil in the cenlie (donbtlot h 
*llniÍDD to Cordova'i cetebrily for honn}, wbich iiDod np-micil 00 tbc lop of ■ 
glabe, nrroundeii bjr founCiini, There are mioy lUagiiMi to thit (iMiinl tpM 
ia the taln and ballidi. To be " bom on ihe Patín " wn lo te ■ Cordouoi 
far txctüauí. It wu the raott of needlc-raaken, who eithcr nuile or ilwpaued 
their goodi about hen^ taú were itckoncd u tice af the guild to whleh the fint 
loitkeepet belongerl (ch. üi.). The MarkH [Átrit, local (or flrin) of Sevlll* «M 
■ low quarter, whcie cvery Thunday wat helil a faít for oíd rurnitsrE, tin- 

aoS 



Don Ouixote 



cciling was somcwhat lower than they needed for thcir 
busincss, they decidcd upon goíng out into the yard, which 
had no roof but thc sky, and (here, placing Sancho in the 
middie of the blanket, they began to toss him aloft, and to 
makc sport with him as with a dog at Shrovetíde,' Thc 
cries which the wretched blankeied onc sent forth were so 
loud thatthey reached thc ears of his master, who, stopping 
to listen attentively, believed that some new adventure was 
at hand, until he made out clcarly that he who cried was hís 
squire. Whceling about, he reached the inn gate at a 
painful gallop, and finding Íi closed, rodé round to see if he 
could (ind whcre to enter -, but he had hardly got to the 
palings of [he inn yard, which were not very high, when he 
twheld the wickcd sport they were making with his squirc. 
He saw hiña go up and down in the air with such grace and 
agility that, had his anger allowed him, 1 am convinced he 
would have laughed. He attempted to climb from his horse 
on to the fence, but so bruised and broken was he that he 
was ujiable evcn lo dismount, and therefore from on top of 
his horse he commcnced to launch so many reproaches and 
invectives against those who were tosslng Sancho as it wouid 
be impossible to write down. But they ceased not on that 
account from theír laughter and their labour, ñor thc flying 
Sancho from his lamentations, mingled now with threats, 
now with prayers, but ali availed him little til] from sheer 
weariness they let ¡t be," They then brought him his ass, 
and setting him upon it, wrapped him in his coat, and the 

' Cmu ampare ¡Kt ctraaldouUi. Il mi Ihe cuatom to loii dogí al Slitovc- 

II la Bngland Útty A«cA iiiclu ii cóclea io lliat tamy trama. Cjr. 

((■mti-^íoMii), from lan in<l (uí/o, ít lyooBymoiii with camivnl, — 

\j tbt (hrce di]n befóte Ath Wedanilay. 

i That il 1 limllir icene of bknket-toBiing in Giamm ái Alfartnh (p*rt i. 

. iii. ú\. <.). The Finí Part af AlemiD'a nove! waa pobliiho) Íd i;99, five 

príated. But ihit chipter 



re Ibe Flnl Pan af D<m ^kíjr>i 



n bcforc 

n Cervanlc* borrowed ftom Alemia or Aleoí 
g 00* whicb miy wdl be common pcopcrt]'. 



>t nortb wbile ce 
1 from Cemali 






Don Quixote 



compassionaie Maritornes, seelng him so cxhausted, thougfat 
it right to relieve him with a pitchcr of water, which, tliat 
it might be the cooler, she fetched from thc wcll. Sancho 
toóle it, and was raising it to his lips, when he vras arrested 
by thc voice of his master, who called to him, saying ; 

— Son Sancho, drink not water ! Drink it not, my son, 
fbr it will Icill thee ! Behold here I have thai tnost holr' 
balsam (showing him the cruse of Üquor), two drops of 
which if thou drinkest, thou wilt be cured indubitabiy. 

At these words Sancho, turning his eyes askant, cried ¡n 
a voice still louder : — Has your worship, perchance, forgotten 
that I am no Knight, or would you have me ünish spcwing 
up what guts are left to me from iast nighc ? In the naiM 
of all the deviis keep your liquor lo yourself, and iet me be. 

To end spcaking and begin drinking were with him bul 
onc act i but at the lirst draught, ftnding that it was water, 
he cared not to go larther, beseeching Maritornes to bríng 
him some wine, which she did with right good will and paid 
for it out of her own money, for indeed it is said of her that, 
although of that trade, she had some shadows and outlines 
a Christian. As soon as Sancho had ñnished drinking, be 
stuck bis heels into his ass, and the inn gatc beíng thrown 
wide open he passed out thence, highiy plcased at having paid 
for nothing and gaincd his point, although it had becn 
the cost of his usual sureties, namelv, his shoulders. Tbc 
innkecpcr, it is truc, retaincd the walJets in payment 
what was owing to him, but these Sancho did not miis 
the confusión of his departure. 

The innkeeper, as soon as he saw him ouiside, would 
fást barred the gate, but the blanketers would by no meaos 
agree to it, for thcy were folk of that sort, that cven if Don 
Quixnte had been verily of the Knights Erram of the Round 
Table, thcy would not have mindcd him two farthlngs. 

■ Snoiñs! — which the itrupulDUi Pnrtnguctr Eipuiíiior enicd ftoi 




Sancko carne up with his master, so jadee! and fáiiit as lo 
be unable to urge on his ass.' Don Quixote, seeing him 
in this plight, said to him :— Now am I convinced, good 
Sancho, that yon castle or inn is, without doubt, enchanted, 
for those who so nefariously took their pastíme with thee, 
what cou9d thcy be but phantoms and peoplc of the other 
world ? And I hold this for certain through having per- 
ccived that when I was by the fence of the inn yard, 
witnessing the acts of thy sad tragedy, it was not possible 
for me lo eurmount it, ñor cven aiight from Rozinante, and 
they must have held me enchanted ; for I swear to thee, by 
the fkith of what I am, that if I had been ab!e either to 
chmb or to dísmount I would have avenged thee in a way 
to malte those rogucs and scoundrels remember the jest for 



' N> ptdia J"« 


i » 


Wcn».- .^tírit thev 


eib faniird U 


m ar'i. the ciy 


lucd by mulflart lo 


their n 


nlei. to ^uiclten tíicir 


pnce, equivale 


nt to Dur 


'6«- 


up"or"e«-oti"i 


wheaee 




(arrier, or "g 


ee-uper." 


The 




ñlDD 


c<l more by eihortition 


thin by «hip 


or (¡rar. 


Ar/, 


lUu the pttut pin 


of the 


voc»l.ulary of ifar road 


¡1 Anbic. h 


Std tQ Ih 


d=y 


in evrry pirt of ih 


world 


*hf« aníniLi ire dri 


itr. by mei> of Eutem 


face. 




innot ígree *■ lo the cool of 


t. Ptobbly 


Dozy i. ^ 


a the 


(itbt wbcn he tt<¡t 


that í 


'■ » tT -"^'^ n>™> 


" ílBolnlely 


nothing. 


The 



Don Quixoce 



tlom 



W ^K *>"^ HE iq^ a¿ Mc «K olled Perfn 
wx, má «MKte T«BK» "-- ->J-, Mil tkc in- 
r IkBBá A» «« h^ >» Piii». ^.L ife left- 



■ I Bl h MMi ■;»<»>■ I aakccwof «n d» 
tboc ^bonia «Aick «e so AoM «ddi^ «31 
B B (k We-*^ ■» «^ ■áaAonm that ve 
t favv «ftK^ i> «V i%iK faM i Md «Ibi ««dd he 



look a6cr om vmn J&ñi^ fñiac «p tks wandering finn 
Zea lo Mccxa, ^ boa pAr n peM, » de si^ing n.^ 



fcyth(0»nafcC»^JI H »ii fc »iii.-ri.ii»yatkwrf DiTMWT« .tMB. 

air«N ut^MOid ciiTal Ton, Un |»a>d t, ttt Una mnrtti gf 
^ir *TM>T tfa AhiMiFi, tW «nin qf Aliéimfcín» áKml UM i «Wt 
U ibe Cea U Cardan «■ efinl b cSex; w ■ fa pi » y ts tátea. ttam, 
I* p fton Ck> ta M«i Icovc t ftattfi br ■■wfciiot «baúl vidMM 
pKTOK. Cn ii rnf<r<T Vt^^ <^ » thc bom notd fottaM a( tk M «t^ 
— 4bc IWr << Kaliei. PBw ■ ckpd deJkaud M Se. Peto. TV pamM» b 
wOTB by fbc itepi of ik pOtríia^ «rba haJ M Bik> tk droik sf tb dmar «loi 
timci, n M Mwa. Zm* mi «fafc», «íoek arr fnunll; tnr*'' "*!« »*« 
213 



*p i8 Don Ouixote 



-How littie dost thou know, Sancho, of thc gear of 
thivalry ! ' responded Don Quixote. Peace, and have 
paiience, for thc day will come when thou shall sce wiih 
thine eyes how honourablc a thing it is lo wander in this 
calling. Nay, and tell me what greaier bliss can there be 
¡n tbe worid, or what joy can equal that of winning a battte 
and tríumphing over one's enemy ? Doubtless, none. 

—So it might be, answered Sancho, for all I know ; but 
this I know, that since we are Knighcs Erranl, or your 
worship is ene (for I havc no busincss to be reckoncd of thai 
honourablc number), ncver have we won any battie, save it 
was that with the Biscayan, and even out of that your worshíp 
came with half an ear and half a hrad-piece less ; since then 
iip to this it has been cudgeUings anii more cudgellings, fisti- 
cuffs and more fisticuffs — ^I getting the blanketing to boot ; 
and this happening to me from enchanted people on whom I 
cannot take vengeance so as to learn where that pleasure 
comes in of which your worship speaks, of conquering tlic 
enemy. 

— That is the pain I feel, and which thou shouldsi feel, 
Sancho, answered Don Quixote ; howcver, from hence- 
forward I will endeavour to have at hand somc sword forged 
by such craft that upon him who wears it they may noi be 
able 10 work any manner of enchantments ; and it may even 

mon fTQpcrly aare, mesns here a inull WDoden pail j eoJaJra^ or coicdrof mcant 
pnny mudí Üie >idm thíng. Cavinubiu uplaint tlut to go fcom sms to ccicJrs 
= — '■' ling from ooi dangct to aaolbcr grata, — flom " tht fiying-pin into 




PflBt gDmg OICK to tht primitjvc ennsa^ vrtajio, t jibve irqn» 

Uog thc bctt irchaic equivalen! I cui ñaé to Üw olil Spuiiah — ía Ebc Shik- 

i^OLnin tcUM of " matlei-m-hsnil," "baímai" — " 1 wiil rroMiiy ihii gcír «e 

loilí" (í Ht-rj fí.. Aa üi. «. il 

213 



Don Ouixote 



happen that fortune may procure me chat of Anmdis whcn 
he was called TTii Knight tf the Flaming StuarJ, wlucb «ras 
one of thc best swords that ever Kníght in the world 
possessed ; for, besides that it had the viriue aforesaid, Jt cui 
like a razor, and thcfc was no armour, however strong or 
enchanted it míght be, which could stand beforc ¡t.' 

^'Tis like my luck, said Sancho, that whcn this comes 
about and your worship finds such a sword, it will only serve 
and profit you dubbed Kníghts, lilce that balsam, and u kr 
the squires, thcy may sup sorrow. 

— Be not in fear of that, Sancho, rcphed Don QuixoiCi 
for Hcavcn will deal better with thec. 

Thus conversing, Don Quixote and his squire wcrc 
riding along, whcn on the road they were taking Don 
Quixote perceived approaching ihem a great and dense 
cloud of dust, on seeing which he turned lo Sancho, and 
said: — This is the day, O Sancho! wherein shall be made 
manifest the boon which my fortune has reserved for toe. 
This is the day, I say, on which as much as on any other 
shall be dísplayed the might of my arm, and on which 
I havc to do deeds which shall remain inscribed in the 
book of íame for all future ages. Seest ihou ihai cioud of 
dust which yondcr rises, Sancho ? Well, it is aÍI the 
churning' of an immcnse army of divers and innumerable 
nations that comes marching therc. 

— By that token there should be two of them, said 
Sancho, for on this opposíic s¡de also there is jusí such 
anocher cloud of dust. 



' Tbc Amidit raTcired lo vru he oí Grcccc, r 
Sword, ux Dole to ch. i. Enchintcii iwordf 
Knigbti EiTunt, lad hclpcd thoa nulciíally in I 
one which he lent lo Orlando for the fighi ' 

' CtajaiU i which ihe piDHÍc Clemctidii ii 
cnlaia. Bal the phrile n ít itindi Mcmi tO 
Enorr pictureique. 



imoo property wiih 
nía. Rnggíeio hi4 
•o (OrlAtá» FW■■^ 



Don Quixote 



^Don Qui 






V that this 



s truc ; and, vastly dclighied, he imagined that thcy wcre 
verily two armies which were coming to encounter and to 
assail each other in thc míddle of that wide plaiii ; for every 
hour and moment was his íancy full of the battles, encliant- 
ments, adventures, cxtravagancies, amours, and challenges 
vrhich are rekted in the books of chivah'ies ; and all that he 
spolce, (hought, or did took the directlon of such tliings. 
As for the cloud he had seen, it was raised by two large 
flocks of sheep whích were being driven along the same 
road from two opposite sides, which, by reason of the dust, 
were not made out tLll they carne near. With so much 
vchemence did Don Quixote affirm them to be armíes, that 
Sancho carne lo beüeve it, askíng :— What, then, ahall we 
do, Sir r 

— What ! cried Don Quixote ; — ^favour and help thosc 
who are in diatress and need. Thou must know, Sancho, 
that thií^ which comes on our front is conducted and led by 
the mighty Emperor Alifeníaron, lord of the great island of 
Taprobana ; ' this other, which is marching at our back, ¡s 
thc army of hís foe, ihe King of the Garamantas — Penta- 
polin of the SIeeveless Arm — -for he always goes into battles 
with his right arm bare.^ 

— But why do these two lords like cach other so ill ? 
askcd Sancho. 

— They like each other ¡II, replied Don Quixote, because 
ihis Ahfantaron is a furious pagan, and is enamoured of 

' Tbae n»m«, ¡nvenled wilh Ccrvanta' nsaai leliciCy in hatlnquc nomcn- 
clatn», have mon at te» oí >ignilicui«. Alífínfiran, tbc braggarl Paynjm, ii 

gcogfifdlcii faave icI riowa in iheir nupa. Tiprobina ít BoUrdo'i ia/j ¡ranái. 



"titmott Indúm Ult," che a 



n Ccylon 



L^ Pmuftim ád tnemiBgaáii kme, Tha a probibly i 



hibit. Thc GiTimon 



Don Ouixote 



KPenapolin't daughtcr, wbo ¡s a tcry bcautifiíl, an 

bdy, uta a Chrístian ; anJ hcr bthcr is unwQ}- 
; lo bcMow her on ibe Pajmim king unlcss be ñnt re- 
3 tbe faitfa of hís &lse prophct, Mahoranl, and hccocno 
t to bis owR.' 

r my bcard, »Íd fincho, bui PcnupoÜn docs ríghi 
rcU, aad I wLll hdp him all I caá. 

^In thai tbou witt be doíng Úij dutj, Sancho, said Don 
Quixotc ; fbr it is not necessary lo be a dubbcd Knight to 
engage in bailles such as thesc. 

— That I can wcU undcntand, answered Sancho } but 
where shaU wc stow ihis ass that wc may be sure (ff findinj 
him after the fray is over ? Fot I &ncy it is not tbe ¿sfiíon 
up to now to go ¡RIO battk on a hctst like tbis. 

— That is truc, said Don Quixotc ¡ what thou mu&t do 
with him is to leave him to his chances, wheihcr he be ion 
or not i ÍOT thc hor^ei wc shall have after we come OUt 
victors will be so many that cven Rozinante runs a rislc of 
being exchaitged for anothcr. But Icnd me thy attcntion 
and look, for I would give thee an accoum of the Icading 
Knighis who come in these two armies ; and that thou 
mayst see and note them the better, Ict ue wíthdraw to ttiat 
hiilock yondcr, whcnce both the armies may be vicwed. 

Thcy did so, and posted themselves on a slope from which 
the two flocks whích Don Quixote had turned inio armíc» 
might vcry wcll be scen if thc douds ofdust whích rose had 

' ThU wn ■ atf freqiirní in thc booki— ihe Spanlib hoos of diinby 
bciag ill onhodaí Citliolici, who diil mocti miníoniry wnilc in ibñr wiy. 
Amid¡i tpired tbe lifr of lh( |iant MtáKtpir, lotí! of thc Üiilraifnl Itlml 
(éui¿9 triifr), oa condition Üiit he beciinc a ChtiMiin ind buílt cbuidui 
ind moQuIeria ia hii kingilDni. Olivs cunvcntd Ficriibru, tai Oiluilo dÜ 
ibt wme office for Horginle ind Agrit*n, Kvta Tirante, whoM monlt •nn 
of a loma Icilure than were profated by Ihe Vmt of Amadií, projugited tbe 
tnr faiüi upan occaiion, baptÍEing witfa h» own hanit Ihc {jwRi EtiDm^dlu 
B¡A miay ihouundi of h« vaiiili in ^Ihiapii and Barturji. 

hífoine m romance. 

2l6 



18 Don Ouixote 



lOt obscured and btinded their visión ; but, nevertheless, 
seeing in his imagination thai which was neither visible nor 
exisiing, he began, with upiifted voice, to say : 

— That Knighi whom thou seesi there in brighl ycHow 
ücmouTy who bears upon his shield a crowned lion crouching 
at the feei of a maíden, is the valorous Laurcalco, Lord of the 
Silver Bridge;' the other, in the armour with flowers of 
goid, who bears on his shield three crowns argent on an 
azure field, is the dreaded Micocolembo, Grand Duke of 
Quifocia ; he with the giant litnbs, who is on his right hand, 
is ihe e ver-da untless Branda barbaran of Boliche, Lord of the 
three Arabias,* who for armour wears that serpent's sltin,' 
and has for his scutcheon a gate which, according to report, 
is one of those of the temple which Samson demolished when 
with his death he avenged himseíf on his encmies. But 
turn thine eyes to that other side, and thou wilt behold bc- 
fore and in the van of that army the ever-virtuous and ncver- 
vanquished Timonel of Carcajona, Prince of New Biscay,' 
who comes in an armour quartered azure, green, white, and 
yeUow, and bears on his shield a golden cat on a tawny field, 
with a motto which says Aíiau — which is the beginning of 
, lady's ñame, who, they say, is che peerless Miaulina, 
tghtej- of the Duke Alfeñiquen of Algarve." The other 
hurdens and oppresses the loins of that powerful 



:r Bridgt " wa> borne 




were bamc bf Rodomiulc, King of Sana 
iDt. liv.). The litlc oí " Lord of ihe SÍlv 
of the KaigbU ia the traía af Anudü. 
C # The ihrce Afíím», vil. the Hippy, the Daat, and the Slony. 

■ Soch ■ glrmenl wore the giant Galafre, it the dcfence of ihe bridge of 
Minlible, in Ihe rDmince of Carlemagiu. Rodonunte al» wore the ume, accord- 
ing lo AtiMto (Orímd'» Fm-itm, canL xiv.). 

* The Piinte of the New ÍAtay may be » ttant >t gome aipiríng nttive of 
ihe Ol-I. To beir the ñm ijllable or letCer of hii miltitil't nune on hii ihield 
wa a fávontite device of Ihe Knighl of romance. So Amadií had hit nch purple 
auttte covered wilh O'i, in hooonr of Oriani. 

liquen ii a gtotriqne coinage, froiti jlfiSifui, a kínd of dclicate iweet- 
!e of lugat and almondí. Algarve it a piovince of Portogal. 

117 



Don Ouixote 



eovrseTf' who wezn the armour whiic as anow and t lASlSf'' 
«fatcM wítlwut 2J1J devkc, b í noñct Knight of tbe French 
Itaiion, alled Pictrc Paptn,* Lord of tbc Banmies of Utiiquc. 
The ooc «rbo, with his íron beeis, beats thc Banks of thai 
mmUe, painted zebra,* and curies Ibr anns tbe azure cupi, 
b tbe potent Duke of Nerina, Espaitañlardo of tbe Wood, 
wbo bcan fer a dcvice on his sJiíeld a pknt of aspangus, 
«rítb a iDono io Casdlian, whicb mas tbiE :■ — Raitrta mi 

And in üm manner he wcnt on mming manr Knighu of 
onc or tbe otbcr squadron, evcn as be inugÍDcd tbem ; and 
to all he gave tbeir armour, colours, devices, and mottoes off- 
hand, so carried away was be by úx illusion of his unbcard- 
of craze. And without a stop he procecdcd, saying ;— This 
squadron in thc van b compoeed of people of diven natioos ; 
hcre are they who drínk of thc sweet waters of the fiunous 

' Alfatm — a lunu for a lag, poscríb] vu-lionc, mch *> ike (bdU tait. 

* A nance Kjii^t mi one ocitIjf doUied, wlia hiJ doI yet pcriorsicJ U} 
ítalL oT irm*. He wnic «bíte innonr, and a ihkid bliak, ¡j, iriüíaal anf 
dnicx (kx ch. u.). Clemencin niggatt tbit Üie mine fitm ftf,m nii^t ha*r 
tmi bomwcd (rmn ■ FicDch hompback wbo lupl i ifaop al Scnlle m Uie CiA 
¿I Ui Srrfrí, «hom Cavaata migbt hivc Icnown duiiog hñ niiifaiec in tbu 
dif. He b ÍDtradncul in Ccrviata' comedy oí £/ Ru^ibi DiikiK. 

' A icbn wai tlii occaiioaal monnl of the pagan King Manil, or MftrttlhM, 

* RaarCM mi atrir mtj be íoterprcted in two myi. accordísg to whelber wr 
ulu raurar ía tbe >e(ÍTt or the neater •suc. If iu Ifae fbrmer, il meani. TnU 
wj fiírtutíi íf ¡ri tbe Utief, Sdy Jórtuiu trmlu The aiparagu plant wanlii Mfm 
to poÍDt to Ihe latta meanÍDg. Probab];, tbe dtvía wat lefl putpoael]' ciu|> 
maticat, aad contaiai lame alluaioo to wbích tbe cine a Imt. In an ailicle 
contríbBted ta La Qrtnrdia (1863), Fernaadot Gnefia (one of ibi bot ufUieBnr 
achoQl of Cecvantiiti, lately ileceaied] idenliS» tbe lesden of the Ivra hoiti wltb 
Te*> penoiu of the time. Lanrcilca, Lord of the Silver Brídge, b the Dote gf 
Lcrm* ; Micocoteutbo ii the Cooile de Sibuar ( Eiparliñ lardo, of the dnbiaiu 
devíce, a tbe Kcretary Antonio de Aróalegni ) Tioionel de Carojon* ít Mcrtia At 



Aróategiii,lRipcctor-GBieralDftheFleeti; Peotipotia 



Tbe Doke Alféñísae 



■ Ibe Conde 



leCoQdedeVilUl» 
Pcrbaf* there i) | 



1 otheri, of the kind of whích Dm ^¡hnu bal J 



^r. 18 Don Ouixote 



Xanthiis ; the mountaineers who cread che Massilian ñelds ; ' 
thosc who sift the fine go¡d-dust in Arabia Félix ; those 
who cnjoy the famed cool banks of Hmpid Thermodon ; 
those who drain, by tnany divers ways, the golden Pactolus ;* 
the Numidians, unsteadfast in their promises ; the Persiana, 
renowned for bows and arrows ; the Parthians ¡ the Medes, 
who fighi flying ; the Arabs, with their ever-changing 
houses i the Scythians, as cruel as they are íair ; the 
^thiops, with pierced lips ¡ and other nations without end, 
whose visages 1 know and behold, although their ñames I 
do not recoüect. In that other squadron march those who 
drink of the crystal streams of olive-bearing Betis ; those 
who smooth and polish their feces with the water of the 
cver-rich and goMen Tagus ; those who rcjoice in the fruit- 
ful floods of the divine Genil ; those that iread the Tartesian 
pUins, in pastures abounding j those who take their pleasure 
in the Elysian meadows of Jerez ; the Manchegans, rich and 
cfowned with niddy ears of corn ; those ciad in iron, ancient 
relies of ihe Gothic blood ^ those that bathe in the Pisuerga, 
famous for the.gentleness of its strcam ; those that feed their 
floclcs in the broad pasture? of ihe tortuous Guadiana, re- 
nowned for its secret course ; ^ those that shiver with cold 

■ The Muiilian fictdi, whjcb, uyi CIctneDcin, conld hiidty Iiive Icen ía- 
htWted by mounliinnn, wm in Aftica. 

' The Thermodoa, mcotioDcd ■□ the jSfirid, wu a rívcr of Cappidoda, 
>ugh tlit conntry of the Amazont. Tbc Pactolui wai i rívcr ar 
1, fiDunii fot iu golden laadi evcr lince Ciiaui batbcd in it. 

■ Thde Un riveri irc of Spain. Íl bcing nnderitood Ihal Ihe hotU of Alifaa- 
le Afrícaní an.l Aiialic* ; ChoK of PenlapalÍQ Europcaní and Chiiilianí, 
a hia ftcniy Don guiíole makei Ptnlapolín húnielf a GaramanCín, — 

■ Alrican fratn remouit Afriu, — yct commuiding the Cbriitiao umy. The 
la k Ibe GoadalquiTit, wbích tua* by SevíLJe, cclebnteil by Martíal, a oative 
Ktfw dlnríct, aa ilkiifrm. The Tagai wai once renowned for iu golden tanda. 
D[ Xenil, ivD> by Granada. The Tailaia w» the aacienl ñame 
t Ihe ngion weil of Belia. The Piíacrga Howa by Siniancaa, and wu the 
«nt hoonduy betweea Leun and Cattile. The Giudíana, with whicb we 
jiio la the courae of Ibíi hiaiory, toni, like " aullen Mole," under- 
gionnd for pan of íta counc 

2IQ 



Don Quixote 



iti tbe wood-cbd P)-Feiiees, or unong thc whin sno 

oí lofty Apenmne -, ín fine, as wamj as all Europc conoiiu 

and comprchends,' 

God S3VC US ! bow many prorinces díd he rocnnon, faow 
nutnjr nadons namc, giving to each irith man-dlous itadi- 
nc» the araibutcs which bclongcd to it, all stufied and 
saniiated vrith wiíai be bad read in hís lying books ' Sandio 
Panza fiung upoo his H'ords without speaking, and fixMn 
time to time be turned his bcad [o ice i f be oould make oitt 
tbc knigfats and giants wfaom his masttr namcd, and as be 
could not diso>rer any, fae cried : 

— Sir, devil take me, if man, or giant, or Knighi appean, 
for all this, of those that your worshíp menríons ; Icastwav», 
I do not see them ; may be i I is all cnchantmcnt, lilte thc 
pbantoms of last nighi. 

— -Row saysi thou so ? answered Don Quixote ; dost 
hear noi the ncighíng of thc horres, tbe blare of thc tntmpets, 
[he beating of the drums i 

—I hear notbing, said Sancho, bui a great blcaiing of 
ewcs and wethcrs. — ^And chis was truc, fbr thc two flocks 
had now come up near them. 

— The fear ibou art in, said Don Quixote, pcnníts thee 
neither to see ñor hear aright, fbr one of che eflects of fri^i 

' Thñ flowinj ud pictBrwiBe dacription. dcKrvmg, far ÜK bcuuy «f lU 
[inguigc ind tbe lUtcl)! rhythm of íii pcríodi, of lU tbe pnás wbich tbe 
Spaniírdt have livíihcil on il, ii fianij com|aied bj Vlcentr de lu Kiu, iu 
lliE lailftii of Dv¡ S¡uinit prcfiícd lo the Spuúih Aaáaay't ediiíoiu, M 
the ctUIogue of ÜM (bipt in the ITmd ind the Biunienlian of tbe allta of 
Tnmua jn tbe ^vjd. As a burletque on Ihac ind limiUr pafu^ in tbc 
poctl tai ronunta, it ii ni«I ailniiiibk. The meltifluoni, miaioI-icctotTit 
fopa nima rcatl lome of Millon't paaálj ntlling lino, whicb «re maile 
poelital chitíiy by tbc ei^oitilc collocilioa of irordi. Cervantei, howcva, thm 
an be Üttie dnobt, tnlended to pirallel onl; certain piiiaga Ío the ramincn nf 
tbinlty, (ipceislly tbat in tbe (oorth book of AmaJii, whete iba twti rival 
■rmia of ibe Emperor of Rome and King Períoo oí Gaul are daeiibed. TbeiE 



n the Knigki tf ih Si», wbece ti 



■urna up the conlending hoiti of the Pagín Emperor Alicundro u 
Emperor Trebicio of Conitiatinople. 



Encbíntel LÍt| 




Don Ouixote 



disturb thc senses, and malee things seem difFerent from 
what tliey are. If it be chat thou art so much afraid, retire 
to one side and leave me to myself, for I síngly am sufGdent 
to give the victory lo the side on whích I may bestow my aid, 

And so saying he clapt spurs to Rocinante, and seiling 
his lance in rest, descended the hill like a thunderbolt. 
Sancho shouted aftcr him, saying i — Come back, your 
worship, Sir Don Quíxote ! for I swear to God that they 
are wethcrs and ewes whicli you are going to attack ! Come 
back ' Unlucicy the fethcr that begot me, what madness is 
this ! Look, there ¡s no gianí, ñor any Kníght, ñor cats, 
ñor arms, ñor escutcheons, quartered or whole, ñor cups, 
azurcd or bedevílled. What is it you do ? God's sinner 
that 1 am ! 

But not for that did Don Quixote turn back ; rather he 
went on, shouting ¡n a loud voice : 

— So ho, Knights I ye that serve and fighi under thc 
banners of the valorous Emperor Pentapohn of the Sleeveless 
Arm, foÜow me ail ; ye shaU see how casily I will give him 
bis rcvenge on his enemy, Alifanferon of Taprobana! 

So crying, he dashcd into the middic of the squadron of 
ewes, and began to spear them wiih as much courage and 
daring as if in very earnesr he was spearing his mortal 
cnemics. Thc shepherds and drovers who carne with thc 
flock called out to him not to do so, but seeing that thcir 
críes did not avait they unloosed their slings, and began to 
salute his cars with stones as big as one's fijt. Don Quixote 
cared nothing for the stones, but galioping to and fro every- 
c, kcpt crying out : — Whcrc art thou, proud Alifan- 
Come to me, who am a single Knigbt and would 
nan prove thy prowess, and make thee yield thy lile, 
in penalty of what thou hasi done to thc valorous Pcntapolin 
thc Gara man tan. 

Herc there carne a pebble' of the brook, which, hitiing 

PihJil,'a~it miy meia eithrt ptbbLc or ■ lugircd almond. 



' cared 

ti 
1 



Don Ouixote 



bim in the side, burícd two oí his ribs iti kis hody. Finding 
himself so íll-treatcd, he thought for ccrtain that he wa* 
kíUed or sorely wounded, and recollectíng his balsam, he drew 
out his cruse and putiíng it lo his mouth, bcgan to pour the 
liquor into hís stomach ; but bclbre he had iwallowed what 
seemed to him to be enough, Üierc carne another sugar-plum ' 
and struclc him ftill in the hand and the cruse so tairly that 
it smasbed that to pieccs, carryíng away on the road three or 
four teeth and grinders out of his mouth and badlj crushíng 
two fingers of his hand. Such was the ftrst blow and such 
the second, that the poor knight was forced to lumble off 
his horse to the ground. The shcpherds ran up, and 
belicving that they had killed him, in great baste collccted 
their flocics, taking up the dead shcep, of which there wcrc 
more than seven, and made off without caring to enquirc 
into anytbing further. 

Sancho all this time was standing on tbe hill loolcing on 
at the mad pranks wbich his master was pcrforming, and 
tcaring his beard and cursing the bour and tbc mument 
when Fortune had made them acquainted. Sceing him 
there &llen to the ground, and that ihc shepherda had gone 
away, he carne down the hill and went up to his masicr, and 
finding bim in veryevü case, although not insensible, sai d tO 
him : — Did 1 not lell you, Sir Don í^uixotc, to come bick, 
for those you were going to attaclc wcrc not armies, but 
flocks of sheep? 

— How tbat thief of an enchanter, mine encmy, can alter 
and countcrfcit things ! Know, Sancho, that it is very casy 
for such to makc us appear what they please, and tbis m^ilign 
being wbo persecuces me, envious of the glory that 1 was lo 
rcap from this battie, hath changed the squadrons of the foe 
inio flocks of sbccp. If thou dost not bclieve me, Sancho, 
do one tbing, 1 entreat ihee, in order tliat tbou mayst 
undeceive ihyseíf, and see tbat what I tell thee is iiue. 



n Don Ouixote 



hiñe ass, aiid foüow them softiy, and thou 
that when they have gone a little way ofF, they wi'll return 
to their original shapcs, and ceasing to be sheep become nien 
right and straight as I descríbed them to thee at the lirst. 
But go not jtist yet, for I have need of thy help and service. 
Draw near to me and iook how many oF my teeth and molars 
are wanting, for methinks they have Icft me none ¡n my 
mouth. 

Sancho came so near as almost to thrust his eyes into his 
master's mouth, and it was just at the time when the balsam 
had operated on Don Quíxote's stomach, so that at the 
moment when Sancho had come to Iook at his mouth, he 
discharged from him more violently than from a musket 
what he had inside, and sent it all upon the beard of the 
compassionaie squire. 

— Holy Mary ! cried Sancho, what is this that has befállen 
me ! Sure this sínner is wounded to deatb, since he vomits 
blood from the mouth. 

But looking closer into it he discovered by the colour, 
taste, and smell that it was not blood but the balsam from 
the cruse which he had seen Don Quixote drink ; and so 
great was the loathíng he took that, his stomach turning, he 
vomitcd his boweis over his very master ; and they were left 
;i pair of precious objccts.' Sancho ran to h¡s ass to get 
Bomclhing from his wallets to clean hímself and to relieve 
his master, and finding them not, was on the point of lostng 
his wits. He cursed himself anew, and resolved in his heart 
to Icave his master and return to his home, though he should 
lose the wages for which he had served, and h¡s hopes of the 
governorship of the promised We. 

Don Qutxote now rose, and with his left hand to his 
moulh tiíat the rcst of his teeth might not all fall out, with 
the other took Rozinante by the bridJe, who had ncver moved 

' Cnw rfí frr!^¡—"atiá to thty both tcmalned like pcirl»," »yi Ikcril 
223 



Don Ouixote 



from his master's side (of so loyal and good a nature was 
he), and wcnt up to wherc his squtre stood, leaning agaimt 
hís ass, with his hand co his cheek in tbe posturt: of one 
in decp dejectlon. Don Qutxotc, sceíng him in this 
mood, looking so melancholy, said lo him : — Learn, Sancho, 
that a man is worth no more than another who does no 
more than another;' all thcse storms thal belál] us are 
signs that the weather will soon be fair, and ihings will 
go wcU with US, for it is not possible that either the evil 
or the good is durable ; and henee it follows that the evil 
having bstcd long, the good Is now cióse at hand. 
Therefore thou shouldst not vex thyself on account of the 
misfbitunes which happen to me ; sure thou didst not shirc 
in them. 

— How not .' replied Sancho j mayhap he they tossed in 
i blantcet ycsterday was some other than my íather's son f 
And the wailets which are missing to-day, with all my 
chattels,^ do they belong to another but myself ? 

— What, are the wailets missing, Sancho * said Don 
Qu¡xo,e. 

— Yes, they are missing, answered Sancho. 

— In that case wc havc nothing to eat to-dav, said Don 
Quixo». 

— It would be so, returned Sancho, should the herbs of 
the ficlds fail us, which your worship says you know of, with 
which unlucicy Knights Errant hkc your worship Kre used 
to supply such wants. 

— Ncverthcless, answered Don Quixote, I would Ucfcr 
t bave just now a hunch oí bread or a coctage Joaf, and 
S couple of pilchards' heaÜs,* than all the herba thal 

^ CvB lodaí mil fi/Aajul : alhaja a Arabic, lacanin^ primuijy, *'«oaMtlui% 
ncoMiry." Ln Spain ít w» uicd ñiit to •ígmly "pliythtng." oí cbilil'* tof t»( 

liltle wnrLh ¡ iftnwardi, ■ tbing of more nluc, s jcwei. Hite ít \t omí bf 
Sucho ta iDcludc «U bii belongJBgi. 

* í/» auiruí Ji fan, i una icg.iaa y lUt libnat At ut^mi «iri^tx. 

224 




8 Don Ouixote 



Dioscorides describes, though he were illustraied by Doctor 
Laguna.' Mounc thinc ass, however, Sancho the Good, and 
come after me, for God, who ís the provider of all things, 
wili not fáil US, more especially going, as wc do, in His 
service, since He fails not the gnats of the air, ñor ihe worms 
of the earth, ñor the cadpoles of the water ; and He is so 
merciful ihat He makes His sun to rise upon the good and 
(he evil, and rains upon the unjust and the just.* 

— Your worship were better for a preacher than a Kníght 
Erran t, said Sancho. 

■ — Knighis Errant knew, and havc to know, about every- 
thing, said Don Quixote ; for thcre was Knight Errant iii 
past ages who was as prompt to deliver a sermón or 
discourse ¡n the middie of the King's camp* as if he were a 
gradúate of the Paris University ; whence it may be in- 
ferred that never did the lance bluní the pen ñor the pen the 
¡anee.* 

— Well, be it as your worship says, answered Sancho ; leí 
u» get out of ihis now and try to find a todging Ibr the 
night, and picase God it may be somewhere where there 



tarrí it the Coai 



llichi 



It for whia> Don Qaiiotc i 



a pcoplc, w 



o thro» 



BdMB ti» 



9 LifUDi. pli)iiiiin (o tJie Empcror Charln V., tnailited Díoicaí: 
I the Gtuk, in in cdition with aola lod illBitriCioni, poblíihcd 
dcdiutcJ lo PhíUp, "KiQg of Eaglm.i 
Itrclitary Piíhm of Spaín." 

* The t«»pcl of St. Mallh(w, ib. V. 

* Camfc rul — to in >ll the origÍDil edilíoni. iIlFrcd in the Loadon edil 
of I7]S talo amim rral, of which emendition CJcnuacin ippnivei. I lee 

Snrdy a cimp ii a plicc more piopfr fot a «cti! 



■ high u 



> the I; 



GltcUilo dt U Vega ond Etcilla, luthot of the Amciaa, wi 
■nd good poeti. Lope de Vegí» whethcr he ever fought o 
laviDcihle Atmtdt. Cervuilct binHclf bore ■ diitinguiíhed | 
haitLe of Lepioto before he began to bk hii pen. 
VOL. I 225 



Don Ouixote 



are no blankets or Uanicctcrs, nor phantoou, ñor wizard- 
Moors, for if tbcre are, I'U pitch Besh and hoolc to tbe 
Devil.' 

— Ask thai of God, my son, said Don Quixote ; and 

lead me whither thou wilt for thís time. I would Icave tfic 

1 lodging of US to tJiy choice ; but lend me herc thy hand and 

I ^1 with thy finger, and see how many tecth and motare are 

I facking on this right side of my upper jaw, for thcre I fecl 

le pain. 

Sandio put bis ñngeis in, and feeling about, asked : — 
How many grínden did your worship use to bave on tbU 
side ? 

— Four, replied Don Quixote, bcsides thc wisdom toodi, 
all whole and sound. 

— ~Mind wcU what you say, Sír, answered Sancho. 

^Four, say I, if not fivc, said Don Quixote ; for in 
dll my íife I never had tooih or grinder drawn from my 
mouth, nor has any lallen out, or is dcstroyed by dccay or 
rhcum. 

- — Well, then, on this lower part, said Sancho, yoiir 
worship has but two gnndere and a half, and on thc upper, 
no ha]f nor any, for all is as smooth as thc palm of my 
hand. 

— Unfortunate me ! exclaimed Don Quixote, hearíng tfac 
sad news which his squirc gave him ; I had rathcr thcy had 
deprived me of my arm, providcd it were not the sword one ; 
for know, Sancho, that a mouth withoui molars ís li)cc a mil) 
without grindstonc, and a tooth is more to be prizcd than a 
diamond. But to all this are we subject whü profess the 
austere rule of Knighthood. Mount, fricnd, and lead me, 
for I shall follow thee al what pace ihou wtlt. 

Sancho did so, and travelled lowards where he ihought 
he mighl be able to find entertainment, without quttting 

raían. LitcriUy, ¿Mroíafg ú i pcit<iiOokaB 
II thit he will throw np Ihe whote korint». 
£26 



CHAP. I 8 



Don Ouixote 



the high road, which about there was well beaten. As they 
went along slowly, for the pain in Don Quixote's jaws gave 
him no rest nor disposition to hurry, Sancho felt inclined to 
divert and amuse him by talking of something, and among 
other things he said was what will be told in the chapter 
following. 



227 



CHAPTER XIX 

Of tht ifHítkU £umrí4 wkiik Samcht htU xotth kti Maatr, 
a»d ^tkt AihxKtMrtwhieh hafftmtá t9Íúm vñtha Dt»d 
Badj i viith otker tuiabU ¡Mcidtmtf 

— Methikks, my DUsier, tfaat all ihoe oiúlups whídi 
have befallen us in these da)-s havc beeo, without ajiy iJoubt, 
s punbbmcnt tbr the sin commictcd by ytHir worship against 
thc rule of your Knighthood in not Iceeping the vow which 
you made nol to eat bread on a sct table ñor sport with thc 
Quecn, witb alJ the Tcst that bclongs lo it, and which your 
worship swore to Icccp, un til you got that belmet of 
MalandHno,' or whatcver they cali the Moor, br I do not 
wcll remcmbcr. 

— Thou art vcry righl, Sanctio, said Don Quixote i but 
(O tell thee the truth it had passed frocn my memory ; and 
hold ihou also fot certain that fbr the fault oí not putting 
me in mínd of tt in time that matter of the bUnkei happened 
to thee -, but I make amends, Ibr, in thc order of chtrair^-, 
there are wap of compounding for evcrything. 

^Did I then by chance vow anything r replicd Sancho. 

— It maiters not that thou didst not swc^, said Don 
Quixote i enough that I hold thee not vcry clear of com- 
plicity ; and at any rate it wiIÍ not be amias to provide us 
wiih a rcmedy. 

— If that be so then, said Sancho, mind your worship docs 
not once more forgct ihis as you did that about ihe oath -, 

' So Sancho ealli MamSríno (m th. 1,1. 
2Z8 



Don Ouixote 



i 



perhaps thc phantoms will have a mind lo talce ajiothcr lurn 
at divertíng themsclves with me, and evcn with your worship, 
if ihey sec you so wilful. 

While talking thus thc dartness ovcrtook them in thc 
middle oí tbc road beforc they could reach or fínd any place 
ia which to sheker thcmselves that night, and thc worst of 
it w;is that they were perishing of hunger, for with thc loss 
of their wallet they had lost their whole pantry and provendei^. 
And to complete this misfortune ihere befell them an adven- 
lure which, without any artifice, realiy loolced likc onc' 
The night set in somewhal dark, bul for all that they 
journeyed on, Sancho ihinking that within one or two 
■cagues they woutd surely find some inn, seeing that was the 
King's highway. Going aiong thus, the night dark, the 
equire himgry, and thc master with a good siomach for 
supper, they saw coming lowards them on the same road 
they wcre taking a grear multitudc of lights, which loolced 
likc nothing etse than stars in motion. Sancho was startled 

the sight of them, ñor did Don Quixoie altogether like 



Nivimtc, tD bü Li/t of Ct 



muí, lelU ( curiana Hory, vrhicb he belícveí 
c. ta 1591, B ceruin hnlj monk, Su Juin 
in bit convoit nt Ubeda, which ii ncar Bieu, oí 1 polileni 
íffVí,—cúltnUíTa\ faúleultty — whoK body, after beiag burEcd nine manth*. wal 
ronoTCd 11 nigbt in peal «tcreey to inolher convtnt it Stgovia, miny ittingc 
■igiu ind omBu iReniling the tiinilitiDn. Tbe uint wai fonad fruh lad un- 
cDtTuptcd, diitilUng iwcel adoiiri. Oa thc road i aun ippnied luddeiily on lap 
of ■ high faUl, uiil oUed ata. in » toud voíee, " ffhnlirr arí yi takmg tkc urnti 
toítff Ltaví it viJitrí it mit.'^ Before it racbcd Segovii, the corpie-bever* 
tfitifitd 10 wciBg, dnring ili truuil, nuny ihíning lighu round about the che» 
which conuincd tfae venerible relie. Tbc atTiír ended in 1 tnil by Ibi dty of 
Ubedi igÜBtl the city of Segovii, heird bcrore Pope Clement Vllt^ wbo 
Otdacd the ratilutíon oí the holy rcnuini lo their original tomb. Ultimalely, 
fO grtai wu the teluctiacc of the Segovíini [o pirt with the iicied eorpte, a 
pCDple of Ubcdi, the uint't body being dívided 
(he two citie*, Cervanleí wii in the province of Gr>Dida about ibe 
tjtia afTiiir. which nlade much noiae at Ibe time, and ÍI ouy be ibat it 
(ór Don Quiíote'i adventuie, and i!lD an ocotton, >uch a« he 
havjng > (ly hit at the detínli. 
229 




Don Ouixote 



ihem i thc one pullcd up his ass by the halter, thc olhcr his 
nag by the bridle, and stood siÜl, watching iniently to sec 
what that might be -, and they saw the lights approaching 
near them, and thc closer they carne the larger they seemed, 
at which spectacle Sancho began to tremble like onc doscd 
with quiclc-silver,' and the hair on Don Quixote's head stood 
on end ; but rousing himself a little he críed : 

— This, without doubt, Sancho, should be a very gnuid 
and pcrilous adventure, wherein I shaU nced to show all niy 
valour and cnighi. 

— Woe is me I responded Sancho ; should this adventutc 
by chance be one of phantoms, as methinks ¡t is like to be, 
whcre will there be ribs to bear ii ? 

—Be they cvcr so much phantoms, said Don Quixote, I 
wíll not allow them to touch a hair of thy raimcnt ; ¡f the 
oiher time they befooled thee ii was because I could not leap 
the walls of the inn yard ; but now we are on the open plain 
where I shall be able to wield my sword as 1 picase. 

— And if they bewitch and cramp you u they did the 
other time, cried Sancho, what will it avail to be in theopcn 
plain or not ? 

— ForaUthat,replicd Don Quixote, I enireai thee, Sancho, 
to llave a good heart ; fot experíence should teach thee what 
mine is. 

—I will, please God, answered Sancho. And the two, 
withdrawing to one side of thc road, again gazed atteniively 
at the travelling lights, to iry to make out whai they might 
be i and after a while they descried a number of mcn ciad in 
white surplices,* whose fearful appearance completely extin* 
guished thc courage of Sancho Panza, whose tccth began to 

' Tnailir iMi un jxi^aJt — ■ provcrbitl phtaie, dtrivcti bata un ídei tkat 
ihoít who lak( mucuty, ai^gur, — oc breathe h, » ih«y <la who vork ín ^uiek' 
•ilver minn, — Inmble like thc metit. 

* Etamiiaiiút—elothti in whiMU diilinguüh ihUD in ihe dirk i 
chiefly oieil ofiDldien, wha roort la IhU dcrtce ía night ittKki. 

230 



m*r. 19 



Don Quixote 



liice onc wirh a cold Bt of agüe ; and thc quaking 
and the teeth-chattering increased whcn they saw distinctly 
what il was ; for they made out some twenty surplíced mcn, 
all on horseback, with blazing torches in their hands, behind 
whom there carne a litter covered with black, foílowing 
which there rodé other six draped in mourning down to their 
mulra* feet, for that they were not horses was pbirly scen 
by the leisurely pace at which they travelled. The white- 
shirted ones carne along muttering to themselves in a low 
and plaintive voice. 

Xhis extraordinaiy visión ac such an hour and in so 
soütary a place was quite suiBcíent to strike terror into the 
heart of Sancho, and almost into his master's. As for Sancho, 
all his resolulion was upset ; though the contrary happencd 
with his master, for in that momcnt his imagination reprc- 
sented 10 hirn vísibty that this was onc of the adventures out 
of his books. He fancíed the litter to be a bier on which 
was being carried some dead or sorely wounded Knight, the 
avenging of whom was reserved for him alone ; and without 
more consideration he couched bis lance, setlled himself well 
in his saddle, and with an intrepid air and míen postcd himself 
in the middle of the road, by which the white-surphced train 
had of necessity to pass. And when he saw that they were 
near, he lifted up his voice and cried : 

— Stand ye, Knights, whosoever ye be ; and render me 
accouní of who ye are, whence ye come, whicher ye go, and 
what it is ye carry in that bier, for to all appearance, either 
ye have done, or some one has done you, some misdeed ; and 
it is ñtiing and necessary that I should know, either lo 
chastise you for the ill ye have done, or to avcnge the wrong 
they have done you. 

— We travel in haste, answcred one of the white-surplíccd 
ones, for the inn is fár off, and wc cannot stop to give you 

such an account as you demand. — And spurring bis mulé he 

uscd forward. 

231 



Don Ouixote 



Greatly tnccnsed ai this answer, Don Quixoie Uid hold 
of his brtdle and said : — Stay, and be more courtcoua, and 
render me the account I have demanded of yau ; or else do 
batile with me, all of you. 

The mulé was skitiish, and on beingseized byihe bridte, 
was so frightened that, rearing on her hind Icgs she thrcw 
hcr master over bcr haunches lo the ground. A lacqucy 
who travelled on foot, seeing him fall, bcgan to abuse Don 
Quixote, who being now ihoroughly enraged, without more 
ado, sel his lance in ihe rest and aitacked one of the 
mourners, bringing him to earth badly wounded ; and 
turning upon the resc, it was a thing to see wíth what agUity 
he assailed and rouied them, for ¡i seemed as \f wings had 
grown to Rozinantc at that moment, so nimbly and proudly 
did he move. The wh ¡ te-sur pliced ones were all tímorous 
folie and unarmed, and so ihey quitted the fray in a trice 
with alt speed, and set off to run over the plain vr'ith thcir 
lighted torches, so ihac ihey loolced like nothing so much í 
masquers flitting about on a gala or festival níght. As for 
the mourners, swathed and muíHed in theír skirts and gowns, 
ihey were not able to move ; so Don Quíxoie beiaboured 
them all very much at his case, and compelled them to quit 
the scene much against their will, for they all thought that 
ihis was no man but a devil from Hetl, who had come oui 
to rob them of the corpse they were carrying on the litter. 
All this did Sancho believc, astonished at h¡s mastcr's inire-/ 
pidity, saying to himself :— Truly this master of mine is^ 
mighty and valiant as he says. 

There lay on the ground a burning torch ncar the first man 
whom his mulé had overthrown, by the ügbt of whicb Don 
Quixotc could see him ; and, coming up to him, he set the 
point of his lance to his face, calltng on him to surrender, or 
else he would slay him. To which ihe fallen man replied : — 
I am quite surrendered enough, for 1 cannot move, having 
a brokcn Icg. I besecch your worship, if you be a Chnstian, 
232 



Don Ouixote 



, for 



í'illc 



sla 



II commit a great sat 
Licentialc, and have raicen the first ordcrs. 

— Who the dcvil has broughi you here ? cricd Don 

f.Quixote ; you being a man of the Church ? 
t — Who, Sir í replied the fallen one ; why, my evil luck. 
[ — Then still worse threatens you, sai'd Don Quixote, 
ifyou do not sattsfy me in all that I first demandcd of you. 

- — Your worship shail be promptly satisfied, replied the 
Licentiate ; and therefore luiow that though just now I said 
I was a Licentiate, I am only a Bachelor, and cali myself 
Alonzo López. I am a narive of Alcobendas ; * I come 
frotn ihe city of Baeza, wíth eleven other priests, who are 
they that have fled with the torches ; we are going to the 
city of Scgovía, accompanying a dead body which lies in that 
litter, which is that of a gentleman who dícd in Baeza, 



wherc he was deposited, and r 



s I said, ' 



E carryíng 



|. 



dea 



his bones to thetr burial-pbce, which is in Scgovia, where he 
was born. 

—And who killcd him > askcd Don Quixote. 
— God, through the agency of a pestilent fever which 
ik him, answered the Bachelor. 

— In ihat case, said Don Quixote, the Lord hath rc- 
licved me of the taslc 1 should have taken on myself of 
avenging his death had any other slain him. But he being 
dead ihrough Him who killed him, there is nothing for it 
to be siient and submit. I should do the same were He 
slay me. And I would have your Reverence know that 
II town leven or right milu narUi of Midtid. Why 
: of the prícn he parlicuUriKit t — SeHor Bcnjumea, ihe 
but fiDiiitic IricU OD Da ^uünK, hu a tbeocy hete 
which 1 ihink forthy of wme ütlcation. Il ii That. nnder the ñame of the 
pricM whom Don Quiíolc overthrDwi, ¡a vtiled in lUuiion lo Cervantei' oM 
meny, Blanco de Pii. ihe Dominicin. Lopn di jHicituáai i> an anagram of 
lUliiJi Blama Íi Pdz. The whole adveotare Íi abviomly ínlended lo bring 
inlo Hdicule a well-linowa contemporaTf occurrencc of the time. Could Blanca 
dt Vn have been miaed op in thii boaiiií»»? — Thit cccluiíití'- !> f.inmi 



Don Quijote 

I un a Knigbt of La \lanclu, lught Don Quixote, a 
thai mjr oSce ind duty are to raam the wnrlií, setting 
WTongs straigbi, and rcdrcssine injuries. 

— I do not know how that about setting wrongs straiglit 
can be, said tbc Bacbcku ; jínce front straight yoa have 
turncd me crooked, leaving me with a brolcen leg wbkh 
wiil ncver scc ítsclf straight again all the days of its Ufe, and 
ihc injury you have redressed in me b to leave me ínjurtd 
in juch a way that 1 shall remain injured fbr e\-er -, and a 
suiScient ntisadvcnturc has it bccn to ^1 in wriih you who 
go seeking adventtires. 

— Ai) things, »id Don Quixote, do not happen afier ihc 
same order. The mischief was, Sir Bachelor Alonzo López, 
in your coming as you díd by night, ciad in tbosc surplices, 
with torches üghted, chanting and covercd with mourning, 
so ihat, naturally, you loolced like some evil ihing and of 
the other worid ; and so I couid not avoid fuJítlIing my 
obligation in attackíng you, and I should have ait^cked you, 
even though veriiy I had known that you were the devils from 
Hell themselvcs, for such I ever believed and took you to be, 

— Then sínce my destiny has so wiUed it, said the 
Bachelor, I beseech your worship, Sir Knight Errant, who 
has done me so ili aii errand, help me to rise from under thís 
mulé who holds one leg of mine fiíst between the stirrup 
and the saddle. 

— i might have tajlced to you till morning, replied Don 
Quixote ; till when were you going to wait to tell me of 
your trouble ? 

He then at once summoned Sancho Panza ; but the 
squire had no m¡nd to come, for he was occupicd in dis- 
loading a sumpter mulé which those worthy gentlemen ' had 

' Bumi iiüini, — <he inimi befare ibc oAnrn u irosinl, i proof, wiih irlnl 
followi iboDl clecin bcing ilwiyi well pravíded wñh good cheer. ÜUH | 
refereoct lo ihe religioiu ptofeuion It not mcint to be a flittering a 
Don Quiíote'i proieilitíoni of loyilty lo tbt Chutth. 



. 19 Don Ouixote 



hrought with them, well stored with provender, Sancho 
made a bag of his coac, and, thmsting into it alt he could 
and as much as the sacie would hold, íoaded his ass, and thtn 
ran to his mastcr's cali and helped to relieve the Bacheior 
from the weight of his muk ; and, placing hím upon her 
baclc, he gave him his torch, and Don Quixoie hade him 
ToHow his companions' track, and beg their pardon on hís 
accouní for ihe inj.ury which he could not help doing ihem. 
And said Sancho: — If by chance these gentlemen should 
wish to know who Ís ihe valorous one that served ihem so, 
lee your worship tell them that it ís the lümous Don Quixote 
of La Mancha, who is otherwíse callcd the Knight of the 
Rueful Feature.^ 

With this the Bacheior deparied ; * and Don Quixote 

1 CaiaiifS di ¡a T-iue Figwa. The traulitort, with nearly one conitnt, 
hive agteíd to interpret jíbara ii meaning only Don Qníiole'l fice. Shrllon 
malos r( ¡¡Í-Jiruai'id Fací; Moitcui. DalijÚ Omnlcmaa ; Smollcct, Suifui 
Cmntnaiui, — in which be a foUowed by Mr. Ornuby. Jirvii only hai il 
^mnofiíl Fi£wi^ which ii literal, and cle>rly whit wi> intended. Figura, if we 
on truit ctyioolagy ind the dictioniriei, mema "figure," — thil li, ihe whalc 
form in-l upict of ihi ana, aol the face only. Cdvarrubíai, who wa> itma» 
«ntltnporary with Ceivintel, givn no olher meaning. The word "fealure."' 
fltunling aa ÍI did in oíd Englüh for fice ind ihape together, ucmi to me to 
tlftatjígiird betlcr thin any other, eipecially ai ■ chivalric and antique daígna- 
Iloa. In Shikipure " féitare " ii nurly ilwtyt okí ia iti ptjmilive Mnae of the 
wbote ihipc or maice-up (Jariurtí). " Cheoted of fciture by diiiembling nalurc " 
(ffKisri ///.}, '^In Millón Dealh ii cilled "the grim featnre." It it urged Ihat 
Don QuiiOle "never coold hive conlemplaled painling a full length on h¡> 
ihietil." Why not > Sucb a blaton would have beca itrictly ¡n aecordance with 
ptcadent. King Abi» of Ircland, who <*■< iliin by Amadii. bote on hii ahieU 
■ Kjiigbt wilh 1 htiille» gianl, in tolteo of * frat petformed by hinuelf (-íniai/j, 
bk. i. <b. ix.]. 

' Hert a gfat, and, ai il wemí lo me, a moit unwarrüniatilt, liberty ii taken 
with the tNcived tnt by Señor Martienbuich, who, lo make the puuge read 
bcttcr, and to correct an inadvectencc of the autbor. íaterpolatei a lentence giving 
lo the dtric ihe wordi which in all olhet edilioni are put in the moath of Don 
yuiíote, with rtteiente to the canon, S fiiii mmUnii D'úidu (ice page ij?). 
It á tiBc Ibat the lenlrnce occun (not in the pUeegivea lo it by Hiilienbutch, 
1|M ebewhere] in the lint of Cuati'i twa editiotu of 1605, Bul in the Kcond 



Don Ouixote 



ulced Sancho whai had moved him to cali htm the Knighi ot 
thc Rueful Fcaturc, then more than at any othcr dme. 

— I will tell you why, answered Sancho ¡ becausc I was 
looking ai you sotnc time by the light of the lorch whicb 
ihal unlucky wight \vas canying, and tnily your worshíp 
has got of late the sorríest figure I have ever scen ; and it 
must be owing either to your being tired our aftcr thi> 
batdc, or to the loss of your grindcrs and teeth, 

— It is not that, rcplied Don Quixote ; bul to che Sage 
on whom thc chargc has devolved of writing the history of 
my exploíts, it must have secmcd ñtting that I should take 
some appetlative, ss took al! ihe K.nights of yare. Onc 
called himself He »f thc Flaming Sward¡ onc Ht tf tht 
Uniearn ; this was Of tht Daimeh ; that Of th* Phoenix; 
another was 7ke Knight ef the Griffin; anotber Ht »f 
Death ¡ and by these ñames and distinctive deviccs wcre 
thcy known through all thc compass of the eanh.' And so 
1 teil thee that thc aforesaid Sagc hath pul it Ínto thy moutb 
and inio thy mind now to cali me The Knight ef tht RutfiJ 
Ftaiurty as I íntend to cali mysclf from this day fbrirañl; 

beitu •COK ind certiinlf betirr inthorítjr. Thc cijilion of 1608 mnM \t 
taamti, u cicty ollur «Jitor ind critic of Den ^inn etcept HariioibiiKli, 
includini ihe Sjaniíh Rojil Acidan]', hu uwiDcd, lo be thc tett u fioiUf 
revÍMd and conícted (howevtr cardcul]') by Ccrvinto. And cert»inl> he coald 
ncver hi*c inlindci) to tntkr Don QdíxdIc uy, " I do ant undemiail [hai Lilia," 
Soiely liiF Knighl hu ilrHil)F giveo proof o( ■ lailicient knowledge af Lltia t» 
imd«r>t«ad wh*l moat h2vc bcm La that ígt a common form of wordi. 

• -Thc Knight of the Ftiming Surorf" vni Amidíi of GrMCC) he "ot tlw 

of London; he "oflhc Danuclt" **) Flonndíno of Macedón». In El Caínllm 
di la Crma; he "of (he Phnnii" wu Flonrbn of Thnce, whn ii eot al lb« 
Rnighti in F/étím/ ái Níjiua 4 be "of ihe Griffin " ■• cominoo ío naoj 
romancB. Counl Arembrrg wai u daigniMd in tht jODit) htU U BÍnl by 
Utry of Burgondy. in honour of hn brother, Chirlo V„ tai ha iK|dira, 
Philip, in 1549. He "of Dettb" wai the piía nime choom for a time by 
Aoudií of Gteccc. Among other auch doigDilInni in the ronuncn m thc 
Knígbti Gloomj, Piínfnl, Sorrowful. Namtln», Hopelm. — "uf the OtiM 
Shield," " of tfae Bloc ShieU," " of the BitTli.k," " of the Bl*ck BM^Ie," «W. 
236 



Don Quixote 



and ihat such name may square wicfi me the better I a 
resolved, when diere ¡3 an opportunity, to have 2 very ruefiíl 
figure painted on my shield. 

— -Thcrc is no need to waste lime and money in having 
ihat figure made, said Sancho ; all thac has to be done is that 
your worship should discovcr your own, and show your fiíce 
to those who look at you, when, wíchout more ado and 
withoui other ímage or shield, they will name you He 9/ the 
Rueful Featurt ; and believe me that I am speaking the truth, 
and I promise you (and in Jest be it said} that hunger and 
the loss of your grinders has given your worship so evil a 
face that you may well spare yourseif the rueful painting, 

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's pleasantry ; never- 
theless, he resolved to cali himself by that name when he 
could have it paínted on his shicid or buckler, according tu 
his fancy í and, said he:^l apprehend, Sancho, that I líe 
under the ban of excommunication for having laid hands 
violently on sacred thíngs according to that canon : Si quis 
suaáintt Diahlo, etc., ' though I am well aware that I bíd 
ijot my hands but this lance ; morcover, I did not suspect 
that I was engaglng wíth priests or things of the Church, 
which, like the Catholic and faithful Christian that I am, I 
respect and adore, but with phantoms and spectres of the 
other world. And, if it come to the worst, I have in 
rcmembrancc what happened to the Cid Ruy Diez when he 
demoltshed the chair of the ambassador of that Kíng before 
his Holiness the Pope, who excommunícated him for it ; 
and yet the good Rodrigo de Bivar bore himself on that dav 
jilee a very noble and valiant KnightJ 

ít DiaÍ4¡a iajBí ucriligii vilium ^tl trimuí aairrerH, ai. BdwIc 
9 tbe worih (rom ihe Dtcrmem jtarnm oí Gneiui. 
* Thii 'iMayfhal cpúade u¡ the ufe of (Íie Cid. úivenled bf lame piiiiotic 
nUid wbea tlic rinhj bctwoo Spiin ind Frince wu at iu height, fi>rmi Ihe 
It oitht biDadi becinniDg. y/nHK-J/iu Jtnirt tn Rima (Dur¡ 



l^j). The Ugmi b givea oüicrwiie 



. Fitbel Muiuel Ríic 



le Cnnka dft Cid, the pUce bcing Tbou 



Don Ouixote »-»«» ■ 

On hcaríng this the Bacbelor wcni ofF, ai has becn said, 
wíthout replyjng a word.* 

Don Quixote wíshed to see if the body whích the liucr 
containcd was boncs or not, but Sancho would noi agree, 
wying ; — Sír, your worship has endcd this peritous adventure 
more safely for yourself than aÍI ihe olhers I have seen. 
Thcse pcoplc, though conqucred and routcd, might come lo 
rcclcon that he who conquered ihera was buc one single 
person, and, aba^hed and ashamed of this, they might take 
heart agaín, and seek us, and gívc us cnough to do. Xhe 
ass ¡5 in good trim ; the mountain is near ; hunger prcsses ; 
wc have nothing to do but step a retreat graccfully, and, as 
the saying is, ihe díad te the grave the Uve to the Uaf? And 
driving his ass before him, he prayed bis masier lo follow, 
who, feeling that Sancho was right, did so without repiying. 
They proceeded a líttle way between two bilis, until they 
found themselves in a wide, secludcd valley, wbcre they 
alighted, and Sancho unloadcd the ass ; and, stretched iipon 
the green grass, with hunger for sauce, they brealcfastcd, 
lunched, dined, and supped all at once, appeasíng tbeir 
stomachs out of more than one hamper which those gentle- 
men cienes with the deñmct (who sddom pertnit themselves 
to fare badly) carríed on their sumpier-mule. But thcre 

■re il greit irouble lo ihnw ihat Ihc Cid tould not hive commilted lo jreM 
■n otfoice igiinil Ihe Hnly FiÜicr j bul tbcir ¡luai are ncedlot, for it ¡i cBtún 
thtl Ra;r I'i'^ WH Dcv«r out of Spain. Ai to the Cid'i orthodoiii, íl wu Avnyt 
mwe thin donhtfnl, ■< Don Qoiiote letmi to bint. 

> Thii tenlcnce Íi dcirl; ■ piece of cirelcHoeu oa Ihc pirt af the anillar, 
who h» «IraHy lold di [hit the Bachelor hid gtme awiy. Tfae chiplet ñ ane 
of the wont printeil in Dtm Stainit, ind hai gívca grcit Iroublr to the cdilon. 
Mete. 11 tltcwhcH, 1 1bllDW whit I holri to be the onljr ufe rule, of gívtng a 
meining lo evny word of the tril, lo fir ■■ il can bcar a mcutmg, without 
regud to what Cervanta thould or coold hi*t wrillai, DoubtlfM be (ouM 
hivc rnade Dm Sjiiitm brtter hid he pltaaeil. Su! he did not do «i, ud donbc- 
len it i» good moDgh. 

■ £/ nourn i U ¡rf»¡mr» y lí vitn i U iifatm — ■ prevab, wordtd 
in lh« (ollecllon of Naüo, £/ mmriw J k/aZUy d vhv» i ü Í^ah. 



í 

/ 



/ 



CHAP. 19 



Don Ouixote 



befell them another misfortune which Sancho took to be the 
worst of all, which was that they had no wine to drink, ñor 
even water to come to mouth; and, being parched with 
thirst, Sancho, observing that the meadow where they were 
was thick with green and tender grass, said — what shall be 
told in the next chapter. 



3^39 



CHAPTER XX 

Of thi advtnturí, ntvtr btfirt ¡ten ar htard ef, aehtf 

valanus Dan ^íxote af Lú Afancha, u/ilh Uis prril tíiam 
any ever achi/ved by the moit famaus Knig/tt in ihe warU 

— It ¡s impossible, good master, bul ihat thia gra&s faears 
witness ihat aboul here there musC be Mime spríng or brook 
which keeps the herbage moist, and therefore it wcre well 
that we should go a little turthcr, so that we may dight oa 
some pbce where we may quench this terrible Úünt 
which plagues us, which, beyond a doubc, is more painful 
than hunger. 

The counsel seemed good lo Don Quixotc ; so^ talcing 
Rozinante by the bridle, and Sancho hís as; by the halter, 
after he deposited upon him the fragmems which were Icft 
of the supper, they began co march up the meadow, feeling 
their way, for the darkness of the night permitlcd thcm to 
see nothing. But they had noi gone two hundred paccít 
when a greac noise of water reached theír e^irs, aa jf 
tumbling down from some high and stecp rocks. The sound 
cheered them cxcecdingly -, and, haJting lo üstcn whencc it 
carne, on a sudden they heard another loud noise which 
drowned their joy of the water,' especially in Sancho, who 
was by nature timid and of litilc courage. They he&rd^ I 

■ ^ Iri aguí I. ntatnu Jd Sgiui, — a play upoa (he miril]. A[t' a tft 
<)ucnch by Kittr,— ihtntc to put mil. u ■ f 
UMd in Üi( tnK of nlsiting or wcalíening, as 
by waiering i(. 

240 



pOD (he miril]. 

, — to dimñirib. Or ¡E Ruy kc 

ni-knfwtt ilu «ilh their liquor 




Don Quixote 









somc blows struck in a regular measure, with a certain 
raitlíog of irons and chaíns which, accompanyíng the furious 
roar of the water, would have struck terror ínto any other 

,heart thají that of Don Quixotc. The night, as has beeii 
d, was dark, and they had happcned to come among some 
II trees, whose leavea, stirred by a gentle breeze, made a 

ilow, fearful sound, so that the solitude, the place, the 
darkness, the noise of the water, wiih the rustiing of the 
leaves, all caused horror and fríght ; and the more when thcy 
found that the biows ceased not, ñor the wind luÜed, ñor the 
lorning carne, atlded to all whích was their ignorance of 
place where thcy were. BuC Don Quixote, sustaíned 
hy his intrepid heart, leapt on Rozinante, and, bracing on 
his buckler, poised his lance, and said : 

^Friend Sancho, thou must know that I was born by 
ihe will of Heaven, in thís our age of ¡ron, to revive therein 
that of gold, or ihc Golden one, as tt is calW. I am he fbr 
whotn are rescrved periis, mighty feats, valiant exploils ; I 
aro he, I say agaín, who has to revive ihem of the Tabie 
Round, the Twelve of France, and the Nine of Fame;' 
who has to consign to oblivion the Pbtirs, the Tablantes, 
Olivantes, and Tirantes, the Phcebuses, and the Belianises, 
with the whole herd of the fámous Knights Errant of the 
time past, pcrforming in this in which 1 hve such prodÍgÍes, 
wonders, and fcats of arms as shall eclipse the bríghtcst they 
achievetl. Mark well, trusty and loyal squire, the gloom of 
this DÍght, its strange scillness, the dul], confused noise of 
these trecs, the fearful sound of that water, in quest of which 
we carne, whích seems as though it were being hurled and 
flung down from the lofty mountains of the moon, and that 
incessaní ihumping which wounds and pains our ears ; 
which things all togcther and cach by itself are sufiicient to 
instil fear, drcad, and Jismay into the bosom of Mars htmself ; 
how much more Ínto that of one who is not used to thís 

' Til ÍJm 1/ F^me. S« noli lo th, t. 



Don Ouixote 



ila¿ of iocidena and advcatures. Yet all that I tuve 
dcscribed to tfaee ík but inceoñres and stimulants to mj 
soul, whJch cause my heart aow to bouad widún my boeom 
with the longing Jt fcels lo encounter thís adventure, howcver 
arduous ic may provc. Tbcrcforc dghicn Rozinante's girths 
a litüe, and God be with tbec ! VVait for me here ihrcc 
days, and no more,* m which, if I sfaould return oot, thou 
canst go back to our víliagc, and ihence, to do me a favour 
and good scrvice, tbou wilt go to El Toboso, whorc thou 
shalt say to my incomparable lady, Dulcinea, that her 
captive Knight died in períbnning doeds which might make 
him worthy to be callcd her own. 

When Sancho heard the words of his master, he bcgan to 
weep very piteously, saying to him : — Sir, I Icnow not whj 
your worship should cngage in so fearful an advcnttire i it is 
night now ; there is no one here sees us ; we can easiiy turn 
off the road and get out of the way of the danger, even 
ihough we don'i drink for three days ; and, since there is no 
one to see us, all the less wiil there be anybodv to set us 
down for cowards, Besides, I have oftcn heard the Pricst 
of our viliagc, whom your worship knows vcry weli, prcach 
that he who seeks danger perishes therein, so ii is not right 
to tempt God by rushing into so monstrous a feat, out of 
which we cannot escape but by a míracle ; and )et chosc 
suffice which Heaven has done for your worship in saving 
you from being tossed in a blanlcet as 1 was, and brínging 
you out conqucror, free and safe, from among all ihose tnany 
enemies that were with that dead man. And should all this 
not move or soften that heart of yours, Ict this reflection 
and belief move it, that your worship will hardly havc gone 
from here when I, from fright, wil! givc up my soul to any 
one that shall please to carry it away. I went out of my 
country and left children and wífe to come and íer»cj| 

' So Anudii ofGiul, irriving attfae Rock of IheEnctuntM D 



cooirtdc Gntindor u 



more [han tbrce day {<fa. c 



. lo Don Quixote 



I 



worship, hoping to do better and noi worse ; but, as 
covetousness doth burst the bag,^ so with me ít has rent my 
hopes afiunder, for just as I had them most lively for winniílg 
that plaguy, ill-starred Isle which your worship has so often 
promised me, 1 see that in paymcnt and change for it you 
wUh to Icave me now in a sptot away from all human wallc. 
By the one only God, good master, do me not this scathe ;' - 
ajid i f your worship will not give up allogether attempting 
ibis deed, put it ofF at least till the mornlng, for by what 
the art tclls me I learnt wheii a shepherd, it should not be three 
houTS from now to dawn, for the mouth of the Horn is over 
the head, and shows midnight iii the une of the lefi paw.* 

— How cansí thou see, Sancho, said Don Quixote, where 
that mouth is or that head thou speakest of, the night being 
so dark that not a star ¡s visible ¡n the whole sky ? 

— Thai's true, said Sancho ; but fear has many eyes, and 
sees things beneath the earth, how much more above in the 
Bky i besides, we may in good reason suppose that it wants 
but littlc from this to daybreak. 

— Let it want what it may, answercd Don Quixote, it 
sball not be said of me now or at any time that tears and 
prayers have turned me aside from doíng that which is due 
to the quality of Knighl. Xhcrcfore, Sancho, prithee be 
silent, for God, who hath put it into my heart now to essay 
this unparalleled and dreadful adventure, will take carc to 
watch over my safety and soothc thy afflictíon. What thou 

> La aJi/m nmtft ti unr— a ptavcrb. 

> Na mt fiiga la/ Jtu¿muiJs. Sancho faUi h<ic ii elievtherc, inla hit mulcr'i 

* Btáai, Ihi Hunling-Hom, m mme given in thil igc lo ihe eoBíldJatíon 
Üra MSmr. Tbc modc of olculiting miilnighl. u «plaíncd in itiE HydngrupJim 
of Andrn de Poto (i fS^), wk id imagine the Hom lo fonn wíth iii icven mínoi 
rtin ■ crnu, with Ihc Polc Sur in Üie centre, the (wa itmi oí which fonaeá 
diflcratt logia actardiag to Üit tcJun ai (he yur. Al [be bcginoing of Aagux 
U wanld ht nidnight ilong the line oí ibt Irfi aRn, u Sancha tiffl. Accotding 
to the ditnoologicsl pina of the ituy u elibontcd by Viccole de loi Ri«, the 
I tbK of (bii idireiitute (hould be the nJghl bnween ihe I4lh uní i5th of Aaguit. 

U3 



Don Ouixote 



hast to do is to tighten well thc gírths of Rozinante and rcst 
here, for I wiU soon return, alive or dcad. 

Sancho, perceiving his masier's final resolution, and how 
litlle his tears, counsels, and cntreaties prcvailed wich him, 
determined to have recourse to his trickery, and to make hím 
wait till daylight if he could ; and so, while he was tighten- 
ing the horae's girtlis, he slyly, and without being felt, tied 
with his ass's halter the two fore feet of Rozinante in such 
a manner that when Don Quíxote wished to Start he could 
not, as the horse was unable to move but by jumps. Secing 
the success of his stratagem, Sancho Panza exclaimed ; — Lo, 
sir ! behold how Heaven, moved by my tears and pnyenj 
lias ruled that Rozinante shall not be able to stir ; and tf you 
persist in urging, spurring, and striking him, it wíli be to 
anger Fortune and kick, as the saying is, against ihe prícks. 

Don Quixote fretted exceedingly, but the more he set bis 
heels to the horse the less could he move him, and so^ witÍK 
out any suspicion of the tying, he thoughi it best to be qutet 
and wait til] the day should bréale, or untíl Rozinante could 
proceed, verily beüeving that this carne of sometbíng elsc 
than Sancho's artífice, and so he said to him : 

— ^ince it is so, Sancho, that Rozinante ís not able to 
' move, I am content to wait here until morning smües, 
although I weep that ii lingers in the coming. 

— Thcre's no need, repüed Sancho, for [ will enicrtain 
your worship by telling you stories from now to daylight, 
unless you lite to dismount and snaich a litt!e sieep upon thc 
green grasa, after the custom of iCnights Erram, io that you 
may be thc freshcr when the day and ihe momcnt shall come 
(br tackting that incomparable adventure which awaJrs you. 

— Whotn cali you to dismount or whom to sieep ? said 
Don Quixote ; am I, perchance, onc uf thc Knights who 
take thcir repose amid dangers ? SIcep thou, that wert b 
for sieeping, or do what thou wilt, for t will do i ~ 
perceive tú be most bctítting my vocation. 
244 



Don Ouixote 



angry, 



worship 
Sancho ; I did not mean ail that. — And, coming to him, he 
laid one hand on the pommel oí the saddle and the other on 
the caiirle, so that he stood hugging his master's left thigh, 
without daring to stir from him a finger's bread th, so greatly 
was he terrihed at the strokes which stÜl resounded ¡n a 
regular measure, Don Quixote hade him tell some story 
foT his entena i nment, as he had promised, to which Sancho 
replred that he would ¡f his fear at what he was hearing 
would iet him. — But for all that, said he, I will do my best 
to tell you a story which, if I manage to icU it, and be not 
interrupted, Ís the very best of stories. And Iet your worship 
attend, for now I begin ; — Thcre was what there was ; may 
the good which h to come be for all, and the harm for him 
who goes tn seek it ;' and talce note, your worship, master 
mine, that the beginning which the oíd folk puc to their 
tales was not just as each pleascd, for it was a sentence of 
Calo, the Román Incenser,* who says — EvU to him who 
goei to ¡oakfor i7, which fits in here likc a ring to the fingcr, 
to the efíect that your worship should remain quiet and not 
go seeking after harm anywhere, but for us to go back by 
another road, sincc nobody forces us to follow this, where so 
many terrible things affright us. 

— Pursue thy story, Sancho, cried Don Quixole, and 
Icavc the road wc have to pursue to my chargc. 

— I say, then, continuad Sancho, that in a village of 
Estremadura there was a shepherd, — goatherd I should say. 



Accordjng lo Pellicei, ti 
bi popular itono whcD totd by 
B Eulcrn orjgin. Samechmg 
' iilini tlory-tcilen. 
^Mi Zaaarím, »yi Sandio, meaníng Caim ti Ctmorha 
ayÍDgi «rere moch in vogue >t thsl period among thi 
eimcd. Swicho'i blumlcr hat a (pice of nulicc in íl, 
luplfl ftllow." 



para ledaí, j d mal pern jaren Ic Jvtri 
I a CDinmon formula by way of prefiu 
people. The cuiiom imacki iuoagly of 



latA to thú diy by 
ot Cito tht Ccniot. 



Don Quixote 



for he kept goats, — which shepherd or goathcrd, as my story 
goes, was called Lope Ruiz, and this Lope RuÍ2 fcU in love 
with a shcpherdess who was called Torralva, which shep- 
herdess calleil Torralva was daughter to a ricb flock-master, 
and this rich flock-master 

^If ihou tellest ihy story, Sancho, in that tehion, said 
Don Quixote, repeating twice over what thou hasi to say, 
thou wilt not ñnish in two days. Speak connectedly, and 
tell it like a man of intelligencc, or clse say nolhing. 

^In the same fashion chai 1 am lelling it, replied Sandio, 
they tell all the stories in my country, and 1 havc no other 
way oftelling it, ñor is it fair that your worshíp should ask 
me to make new customs. 

— Tel! it as thou pleasest, answcred Don Quixote, for 
since Fate wills that I can do naught elsc than hsten to ihec, 
proceed, 

— And so, dear master of my heart, continued Sancho, as 
i have said, this shepherd fell in love wiih Torralva, the 
shcpherdess, who was a buxom, rakish wench,' with some- 
what of a mannish turn, for she had littte moustaches, — I 
think I sec her qow, 

— Didst know her then ? asked Don Quixoic. 

^No, I did not know her, answcred Sancho ; but he 
who told me this tale said that it was so certain and truc, 
that when I told it to any one clse I might avouch and 
swear that I had seen it all. And so as ihe days wenl and 
the days carne, the Devil, who sleeps not and embroíls 
everything, so contrived ¡t that the love which the shepherd 
had for the shcpherdess was turned to hate and ill-will, and 
the rcason, according lo evil tongues, was a certaín measure 
of jealousy she caused him, such as passed the bound and 
trespassed on the forbidden ; and so much was ít tbat the 
shepherd hated her thcnccforward, and so as not to sec 
ofet to hiHlcing, — appUeil to ■ bU'l 



" híggíid." 



346 




Don Ouixote 



her any more he resolved to fly from ihat couniry, and 
go where his eves should never bthold hcr more. Then 
Torralva, when she found herself scorned by Lope, straight 
fell to loving him more than ever she had loved him 

Íbeforc. 
— Thai, quoth Don Quixote, is the natural dispositíon 
of women, — to disdain those that lovc them, and to love 
those that hate them ; go on, Sancho. 

— It came to pass, saíd Sancho, that the shepherd carríed 
out his resolve, and driving his goat3 before him, took the 
road along the plains of Estremadura to pass over Ín(o the 
kingdom of Portugal. Torralva, who learnt of it, went 
away after him, and foHowed him on foot and bare-legged, 
afar off, with a pilgrim's stafFin her hand and a scrip round 
her ñecle, in which she carried, as they say, a bit of a looking- 
gUsa and another of a comb, and I know not what Httle 
bottle of washes for her face ; but let her carry what she diii, 
for I care not to set about verifying it for the prescnt, all I 
say is that the shepherd, as they say, carne with his flock to 
pass over the river Guadiana, which at that season was 
swolien, and almost away from its bed ; and at the spot he 
came to ihcre was neither boat ñor bark ñor any onc to pass 
him or his flock to the othcr side, at which he was much 
put out, for he saw that Xorralva was approaching, and 
would give him much trouble with her prayers and tears. 
However, he went looking about till at last he saw a fisher- 
man, who had by him a boat so small that it could only hold 
one pcrson and one goat ; and upon thís he spokc and agreed 
with him to carry himscif and thrce hundrcd goats which he 
was driving across. The fisherman got into the boat, and 
carried over a goat, returned and carried over another, and 
carne back again and carried over another, — Let your worship 
kcep count of the goais which the fisherman is carrying over, 
for if one should slíp from your memory the tale will be 
I ended, and it will be impossible to tell a word of it more, — 
247 



Don Ouixote 



I go on, ihen, and say that tfae landíng-place on the other 
sidc W3S covered wíth mud and slipper}-, and ddaycd ihe 
ñshcrman a good dcal Jn going and coming ; yet for all tbat 
he rctumed for another goat, and another, and another 

— -Reclcon that he has carried them all over, $aid Don 
Quixote, and do not keep going and coming tn that &sfaion, 
or thou wilt not make an end oí passíng them over in a 
twcivemonth. 

— How many have gone over up to this ñme? asJced 
Sancho. 

—How the dcvil do I know ? replied Don Quixote. 

— There, now j what did I tell you, to keep a good 
count ? by the Lord, then, the tale is ended, for thcre is no 
going any íarthcr. 

—How can ihat be, replied Don Quixote ; is it so 
essentiai to the narrative to ínow the goats who have passed 
over so exactly, that if one of their number be nÚ9Sed ihou 
canst not go on with the story ? 

— No, sir, by no manner of means, answered Sancho i 
for as soon as I asked your worship to tell me how many 
goats had passed, and you replíed that you did not Icnow, tn 
that same instant thcre went away out of my memory what 
remained lo tell, and faith but there was much goodncss in 
it and diversión, 

— So then, said Don Quixote, the story is ünished f 

— 'Tis as finished as my mother, said Sandio. 

^Verily I say, replied Don Quixote, that thou hast told 
me the most novel tale, story, or history ' that any one ín 

' Thii UJe of Sancho'i Í> vecy oíd, and tbf " kU " vüb M-hich it coDcluda 
(«mmon ta ttorís told with the oljecl of i|ñnDÍng out thr time, tt ú feoad ín 
(he Cm» NuatÜc AiaUki ; «lio Ín one of the Ftmeh /aSIÍjiir in tht collectioa of 
Birbuan, where ■ decpj " &b1eor," being ardeccil by tbe Kiof to Icll hltD ■ 
naty, rcpcali thii, conjsg ta ■ itop whcn the Uut btgini likieg ova tía dwept 



for the K 



lull uid the ihcrp are nuay- 
Or UiuoDi \f bcrhii ptner, 
£t puii porront a»ct conler. 
* 248 



taAP.io Don Ouixote 



thc world could I 



i such í 



I conceive, and never ' 
lelling it and leaving it secn in a lifetimc, although I 
expected nothing other from ihy excellent wit ; but I marvel 

Inoi, for possibly that ceaseiess clatter has disturbed ihine 
iinderstandíng. 
I — A!l that may be, responded Sancho, but I know that as 
|o my tale there is no more lo tell, for there ¡t ends wherc thc 
inistake Jn the reckoning of the passage oF the goats begins. 
— Let it end, and in a good hour, where it wil!, said Don 
Quixote ; and now let us see whether Rozinante ts ablc to 
move. — Again he applied his heels to his horse, who again 
gave some Jumps and stood stili, so securely was he tíed. 

Here it chanced that whether from the cotd of the 
morning which now broke, or that Sancho had supped oiF 
sonríe laxative things, or that it was a cali of nature, whích 
is what we must beheve, there carne to him the inclinación 
and desire to do that which no one cise could do for him ; 
but so great was the fcar which had invaded his heart ihat he 
did not daré to withdraw from his master a nail's breadth.* 
YeC to think of leaving undone what he wantcd to do was 
also impossiblc, and so what he did, taking a middle course,^ 
was to let go his right hand by which he was holding 
the cande behind, and with thís softly and without any noise 
he loosened the running string by which his brecchcs wcre 
kept up without any other help ; that being untied, they fell 
about his fect, and held him líkc fetters. Thcn he raised 
his shirt as well as he could, and exposed to the air a paír of 



In ihe Diuifliiu CJtrkaTa of Pedro Alfonm, the Jew eonverl, wbo wai phyíicisn 
lo King AUoeio I. of Angón (about A.D. iioo), tbe umc ilory ii lold by i 
úthrt to hí> ion, — the anthor alleging in faii ptefuce ihit he hid Uken hii itariu 
ítozn tbe Arabic. It ú probably much oldcr than thÍB, ind úf uadoubird Eittcm 
orígin. In India it ú a nuncry tile told bf ayjii to childtrn, who ire biilden la 
la 10 ilup antil lil the goda havc ccoaieil. 

' Un iH^rg a!r lüa — tit. " ■ hiack oT ihc niiL" 

i**- lin áifdíi — ■ lerin niíd b düputti wherc, for the lake of peace, lome- 
Lg u yidded lew ihaa Ihe itHct rígbt, lo that both putia nuy be contEnled. 
249 



I 



Don Ouixote 



buttocics, which were none of the smallesl. This done> 
which he fancied was all tbal he had to do lo get oui of that 
terrible griping and anguish, there was prescnteJ to hhn 
another and greater difficulty, which was that he Icared lie 
could not relieve hímself without some rcport and sound } SO i 
he set lo grinding his teeth and drawing in bis shoulden, 
holding his breath as much as be could. But with all tfaese 
prccautions he was so unfortunale as after all to makc a^Jittlc 
noise, which difFered from that which was causing them" io_ 
much terror. Don Quixotc heard it and said; 

— What repon is that, Sancho ? 

—I Icnow not, sir, repÜcd he ; something nr 
be, for ihcse adventures and mísventures never begin™ 
hitle ihing. 

He again tríed bis luck, and succceded so well that with- 
out further nolse and dísturbance he found hiinself frce of 
the load which had givcn him so much distress. But inas- 
much as Don Quixote had the sense of smelling as quiclc as 
that of hearing, and Sancho was pinned so cióse to him as 
that the fumes ascended upwards alcnost in a straight Une, it 
could not be helped but that some should reach his nose i 
and scarce did they arrive there whcn, going to i 
and holding it beiwccn his fingers, he said, in a voice ■ 
what snuffling : 

— Methinks, Sancho, thou art in great fcar. 

— Yes, I am, responded Sancho ; but how does 3 
worship perceive it now more than ever ? 

— In that more than ever thou smellcst, and not of ai 
replied Don Quixote, 

— Very like I do, said Sancho, but it is no láult of mine, 
but of your worship, who drags me about at unseasunable 
hours and at these unaccustomed paces. 

— Retire threc or four of them otij friend, said Don 

Quixote {this without letting go his fingers from his nose), 

and henceforth talce more account of thy person and of what 

250 




up. 10 Don Ouixote 



thou owest to mine, for the over-much familiaríiy I have 
with thee has engendered this contempt. 

— I'll wager, replied Sancho, that your worship thinks i 
havc^done something with my person I ahould not do. 
Jí¿-^£-^It is worse to stir it, friend Sancho, responded Don 
Quixotc, 

1» this and other such converse master and man passed 
the night ; and Sancho, seeing that in a littie more thc 
Diorning would brcak, very carefuüy releascd Rozínante and 
tied up his breeches. As soon as Rozinantc found himsclf 
frce, although of himself he was never very mettlesome, he 
seemed lo revive and began to paw with his hoofs, for to 
curvet (by his leave) hcBías unable. DonQuixote,observing 
that Rozinante could now move, took ¡t for a good sign, and 
believed that it was for h¡m to attempt that fearful advcnture. 

By this time thc day had broken and things could dis- 
tinctly be seen, when Don Quixote perceivcd that he was 
among some tall treea that wcre chestnuts, which cast a very 
darle shadow. He perceived also that the hammering did 
not cease, but could not discover what caused it, and so 
without further delay he made Rocinante feel the spurs, and 
turning to take leavc of Sancho, he dirccted him to wait 
there for him three days, at the most, as he had already toíd 
him, and if at thc end of them he had not returned, to take 
it for certain that It had pleased God he should end his days 
in that perílous adventure. He again repeated to him the 
rnessage and errand which he had to carry on his bchalf to 
his Lady Dulcinea, and as to what related to payment for his 
serviccs, Sancho should g¡ve himself no concern, for he had 
drawn up his wül before leaving his viíbge, wherein he 
would find he was satístied in all touching his wages,— in 
due proportion to the time he had served ; buc if God should 
bring him out of that peril, safe and sound and without 
damage, the squire might hold that promiscd Isle as more 

1 certain, 

251 



Don Quixote 



Sancho began to weep afrcsh to hezr once more the pitífiíl 
words of his good master, and resolved not to leavc him tíll 
thc final issue and end of that busincss,.' (From thcse tcars 
and this resolve, so honourable to Sancho Panza, che author 
of this history gathers ihat he must have been well born, and 
at least an oíd ChrUtian.) This lenderness of beart did 
somewhat soften hía master, but not so much as to betray 
him to any weakness ; on thc eontrary, dissembling as bcst 
he mightj he began to travel towards tlie point where thc 
noise of the water and the hammeríng secmcd to come. 

Sancho foUowed on foot, leading by the hattcr, as he was 
wont to do, hís ass, the constant companion of bU prosperous 
and adverse fortunes. Having goac a good distance among 
those chestnuts and shady trees, they came to a littlc meadow 
which lay at ihe foot of some high rocks, down whJch a 
mighty rush of water descended. At the base of thc rocks 
were some rudely-built houscs, iooking rather like ruins of 
buÜdings than dwellings, out of whicb, they became awarc, 
iS9ued the din and clatter of the strokes which sriU ncvcr 
ccased, Rozinante started at ihe noise of the water and of 
the hammering, and, quieting him, Don Quixote advanced 
gradually nearer to the houses, commending himself wíth all 
his soul to his lady, and supplicating her favour in that 
formidable task and enterprise, and, by the way, commend- 
ing himself also to God that He might not forget him.' 
Sancho did no: quit his master's side, but stretched forth hís 
neck and his eycs as far as he could from betwecn Rozinante's 
Icgs to see if he could make out what ic was that had causcd 
him so much terror and dismay. They had gone about a 
hundred paces lárther when, on tuming a córner, the vcry 
cause, — for there could be no other, — of that horrid and to 
thcm terrible aound which had held them all that níght in 
suspense and fcar, became clear and paicnt. This was ^i^ 

> A ftft el thit pisiigv, tte cDmmciidition to hi> tiJy, wu crucil 
Knpvgiitv'mt of Panugil, 1614. 



Don Quixote 

' reader, thou wilt talce ii not in disgust and anger] six 
fulling-hammers whích, with thcir successive strokcs, made 
all [hai din.' 

When Don Quixote perceived what it was, he was 
struck dumb, and covered with confusión from head to foot. 
Sancho looked at hím, and saw thaC he hung his head down 
on his breasi with signs of beíng ashamed. Don Quixote, 
too, looked at Sancho, and saw that he had his cheeks dis- 
tended and his mouth full of laughter, with evidenl tokcns 
ofwaiting to explode with ít ; and his gloom did not pre- 
valí so much with him that at thc sight of Sancho he cou!d 
rcfrain from laughing himself. When Sancho saw his 
mastcr had begun, he burst oitt in such a manner as that he 
had need to catch his sides with his hands to prevent them 
splitting. Four times he stoppcd, and as often renewcd his 
laughter with the same violence as at ñrst, upon which Don 
Quixote gave him to the devil, especially when he heard him 
repeat in a gibing way:^ — Thou hast to know, O friend 
Sancho, that I am born in this an age of iron to revive 
thcrcin, by the «nll of Heaven, the golden or that of gold ; 
I am he for whom are reserved periis, mighty deeds, valorous 
exploiis. — And thus he went on repeating all or most of the 
words which Don Quixote had uttcred when first ihey heard 
that terrible hammering, 

' TIure are itíll tome fnUing-míLli, ipparFntly of otd conitruction, ilniiiliiig 
on tlw buki of [he Upper Giudiaoa, (hortly ifter ít ¡Htin (rom thc Lagooni, 
armt the villige of Ruidoi, which are believed lo be the very ume whicb Cer- 
ints ha* htn ima'Aeá. But though thc icece ii one which he might havc 
mind, the roclu. and the lall trca (not cbeslnuti bcre, but poplin), 
i ibe water, coirapondÍDg ta hii dcicription, il í> dilfieull lo malee ihb ipoE 
o the iccepted ítíneTary of Don Quúote. According lo the road and the 
>ey have been tnvtlHng itncc leaving the inn of Jusa Pilooieijue, thc 
light vid ihe •qoire ihould be now a little «it of Ciudail Real, aat the lite 
■the «Dull tDWD of Almagra, urhieh u lome litly milea away from tbe Lagiiim 

fer mtdo di Jífjd : Jíi¡-i, formcd by titifiíiiifaia from the lounr) made 
■ the mouth when jnned ap in deriiÍDn, layí Covarrabiit. 

253 



Don Ouixote 



Doa Quixotc, sccíng that Sancho tras anodcing him, was 
and cimged thsc he rai&ed hta lance and dealt him 
blows such as, íf iiHtead of recciving thrm on hís 
be bad caught th«n oa lüs bead, would have ftced 
r frtun paving hím hú wages, unless it «rere to hfs 
Sancho, findíng that be got such ill carncst fot hb 
jat, tn fear that bis master would caury it &rtbcr, nid to 
bim wiih much humblcness :^ — Good, yo«tr wtmhip, calm 
Tourself ; I did but jest. 

^But bccatue you jest,' 1 do oot, replicd Don Quixotc. 
Come hither, sir mem-inají : think ye that if jnstead of thcse 
bcing fulling-hammcrs thcv had bcen iome perilous advcnture 
ebe, I should not have shown tbe couiagc neccssaiy to its 
undertaking and achievement ? Am I, perchante, bound, 
being as I am a Knight, to inow and to distinguisb sounds, 
and to tell wbcther thcy are of fulUng-milIs or not I — espcci- 
ally since it might be, as in truth it is, that nc\'cr in iny life 
have I seen them as you have scen theni, base churl as you 
are, born and bred among them. Nay, procure ye that 
these six hammers be turned into six gíanis, and throw them 
at my beard, one by one or all (ogether, and, if I do 
not have them all hceb up, mock me as much as you 
picase. 

—No more, good master, replied Sancho, fbr I confcss 
I «rent too far with my bughing ; but tell me, your worship^ 
now we are at peace, as God shall bríng you out of all tbc 
adventures which may befall you as wbolc and sound as you 
have been hrought out of th¡s, has it not becn a thing to 
laugh at and to tcU, tbe great fright we have had ! — at Icast 
which I had, for, as to your worihip, I trow tbat you know 
not ñor comprehend what íéar or frighl is. 

— I do not deny, answered Don Quixoie, th.ii what has 
happened to us is a thing wortb laughing at, but it ís not 
' DoD Quixoie berc qk* ibc Momit («noa plunl, lo give grcitfr cinphnjt lo 
hú CMituapC ind aipt, 

254 



Don Ouixote 



m 



h tcUing, for noi all persons are knowi'ng enough to 
give things the right point. 

— Your n-orship, at any rate, replied Sancho, Icnew how 
to give point to your lance, pointing it at me at my head 
and hitting me on the shoulders, thanks be to God and to 
the agility I used in stepping aside ; but, go to, it w¡ll all 
come out ¡n the buckíngji as I have heard say,^e likcs 
thee weü who makes thee cry^and, besides, great lords are 
wont, after an ¡li word to a servant, to give him a pair of 
breeches— ihough I know not what they are wont to bestow 
after giving him blows, ¡f so be that Knights Errant after 
blows give not Isles or Kingdoms on the main. 

■The die may so fali, said Don Quixote, as that a!l thou 
Igest may come to be true : overlook what has passed, 
ice thou art sensible enough to know that a man's iirst 
motions are not under his control. And take hced from 
henceforth of one thing, in order that thou mayst restrain 
thyseif and repress thy too much licence of speech with me, 
for never in the many books of chivalries which I have read, 
which are infinite, have I found any squire speak so much 
with his lord as thou with thíne ¡ and, in truth, I hold it for 
a great fault in thee and in me, — in thee, that thou respectes! 
me Bo little,^n me, in not making myself to be more 
respccied. There was Gandalin, squire of Amadis of Gaul, 
was Count of the Firm Is!e,*and we read of him that he 
alwaya spoke to his lord cap in hand, with his head bowed 
and his body bent, in Turkish iashion. Then what shall 

' Tsiio laJílrá tn la calada — fl proverbial idiom, OIOTC tbvi once uied by 
Sinch». 

' Eu 'f fiíierí hita fut ít *J¿f üsrtir — a prorerb^ 

' Gandalin wn the Km af a Bretón Icoíght. iinil i fotter-brothet of Anudií, 
(o vhoni he ifierwardi becjine i^uire. Amadia martjed bim lo the princcu of 
Daunuk. The bcmla Firmt, which appeari a conlradiclion in lem», w¡u 1 
penÜuuEa of verj modérate dimeniLona, being only levcn Icaguei long gad ñve 
wjdc, uniled ta Biiltany by i DaiTow neck of had. The paiiigc in which 
Amidií beitowi on hii faithful tquire snd coniiuit companíon the liuali Fh-m. 
ii oat OÍ genuioe patbot and bigh chivalríc Knlimcnt {jimaJii, bk. ü. cb. ü.)- 

255 



Don Quixote 



we say of G^abal, squire of Don Gahor, who w^s so 
thzt to indícate his surpassing and manellous laciturnitr, 
only once is his ñame named in all ihat histor}',* so grand 
and truihful. Frotn all that I have said, Sancho, tbou hast 
to infer that it is necessary to maJcc a distínction between 
master and man, between lord and servant, and betwccn 
knight and squírc. So from this day henceforward we must 
proceed with more respect, without giving oun«lve3 rope, 
for in whatever wise I may be angered with you, ít will go 
ill with the pítcher.' The fevours and benefits I hawe 
promÍ9cd you will come in their time, and, should they not 
come, the wages at least will not be lost, as I have lold you 
alrcady. 

— It is well, all that your worehip speaks, said Sancho ; 
bul 1 would fain know, in case the rime of the fávours di'il 
not come, and it was necessary to fall back upon wages, how 
much was it that the squire of a Kníght Errant made ¡n 
ihose times, and if they settled by the month, or by the day 
like bricklayer's hands ? 

— I do not betieve, replicd Don Quixote, that evcr such 
squircs were on wages, only on fevour ; and if now I havc 
assigned wages to thee ¡n ihe sealed testament whích I Icit 
at homc, it was in order to provide against what might 
happen, for I know not yet how chivalry may turn out in 
these disastrous times of ours, and I care not that my soul 
should suñer for trifles in the other world, for I would havc 
thee know, Sancho, that in this there is no statc more perílous 
than that of the adventurers. 

— That is true, said Sancho ; since the mere sound of 

' A Ua vouchcit fór by the CtíÜiñiI lad iodefalJ^tile BdwIc, — * proof no !«• 
of the EnglHh eDininentitor'i bdiatiy than of Cervuitca' nunclloM Icaowtedp 
¡md !dvc at the Umlu of chivalrÍH. 

* Mtlf^a ti lámíTQ, — illuding la ihc prowiU á (/ ^iir* ¿i tm ti támurt, 
mal fara t¡ ¡inurc j rf í/ tintare á¿ en it fiíjra, mélfata ti lixtan t—nhdh» 
ibc ^Icha nrika on tlic itcrne. or the itane an the pitcher, !l i* tad foi tht 

256 



CHAP. 20 



Don Ouixote 



the hammers of a fulling-mill could trouble and disquiet the 
heart of so valorous an Errant adventurer like your worship ; 
but you may rest well assured that from this henceforth I 
shall not loosen my lips to malee a jest of your worship's 
doings, but only to honour you, as my master and natural 
lord. 

— By so doing, replied Don Quixote, shalt thou live long 
upon the face of the earth, for, after parents, should masters 
be honoured like unto them. 



VOL. I 



257 



17 



CHAPTER XXI 

tVbich treati af the Isfty adventurt and tht riih winntng ^ 
Mambriníí htlmet^ with ether thingt tukich happened t» 

our inviacibU Knight 

Meanwhile it began to rain a little, and Sancho wanted 
them to go ínto the ñilling-müls, but Don Quixote had con- 
ceived such an abhorrence of them on accounc of the late jote 
that he would on no account enter them, and so, turning to 
the road on his right hand, they carne upon anotbcr like that 
which they had taken the day before. A liitlespaceonward 
Don Quixotc descried a man mounted, who worc on his 
head something that glittered as if it were of goid, and 
scarce had he seen him, when be turned to Sancho, and 
exclaimcd : 

— Methinics, Sancho, that therc is no provcrb which is 
not irue, for all are maxims gathered from experience, itself 
tbe mother of all the sciences, especially that which says, 
wkere one door tkuls anoíher opern? This I say, becausc if 
fortune last night shut against us the door of that which wc 
sought, befooling us with the fulling-mills, now does it open 
wide to US another far bettcr and more ccrtaín adventurc, by 
which, íf I make not good my cntry, the fault wil! be mine, 
without my being able to impute it to my scant luiowledge 
of fulíing-mJIls or to the darkness of the night. I ay this 
because, ¡f I am not deceived, thcre is coming towards us 



> Dtmái una futría M 



2S8 



9 pTDVerb» 



Don Ouixote 



onc who bears on his head the helmet of Mambrino,* over 
which I made the vow thou knowest of.* 

— Mind well what you say and better what you do, saíd 
Sancho, fot I wouM not there were other fuUing-mills (o full 
US ofFand hamnier us out of our senses. 

— -TJie devil takc thee, fdlow, cricd Don Quixote ; what 
has a helmet to do wilh fulÜng-mills ? 

— I don't know, answered Sancho ; bul, fiíith, if I might 

speak as I used to, pcrhaps I could give such reasons that your 

srship would see that you are inistaken in what you say. 

— How can I be místaken, scrupulous traitor, in what I 

uy, cried Don Quixote ; tell me, seest not yon Knight who 

montes towards us mounted upon a dappled grey steed, who 

s upon his head a helm of gold f 

— What I see and make out, replied Sancho, is naught bul 
a man upan a grey ass like mine, who carries on hís head 
a ihing which shines. 

— Weli, that is the lielmet of Mambriro, said Don 
Quixote ; withdraw aside and Icave me alone with him ; 
thou shalt see how, without speaking a word, and in order to 
save the time, I conclude this adventure, and the helmet 
which I have so coveted becomes mine. 

— The withdrawing I will take care to do, replied Sancho ; 
but God grant, I say again, it prove swect marjoram and 
no milling.* 

' Mambrína't helmet, m eacbínted had-peec which fignrcí lirgely in the 
Orla/ide FuráB ind Imainrin. Oríginillf largcri for the Sincen King Munbtian. 
It *«< woa frwn him in batlle by Rinaldo of Moniilvan, whom it aervFd ia hi> 
comban wilh Graduó, with Orlando, and wiih DirdincL Ftom bim ít (eemt 
to have paueil ¡uto tht banda of Ogier the Dine, whom Arioalo deambci aa 
wcaring it ín the Irain of Chirlrnugoe {Orlandn Fariea, canto iiiviii. it. 79). 

i^( errgañs uay m baianti. Sancho ia alluiling to ihe oíd provcrb — ¿ 
fitga fw er/gan m y kb u na viahia alterebta, — "pleaie God il be 
autj^'^'"» ""I '^"1 ""'" CiFraway opon ui." — ilenoliag aniíety leil ■oinetfaini 
ÜMUld ture out othrr ihin what v» eijccteil, Shelioo, mialalcing the meaDÍng 
eí ^/¡am, tatkr» Sancho aay : "I pay that it be a parcha» of gold and not 

259 



Don Ouixote 



:his. T^ere 



— I havc told you already, brothcr,' not to remind me 
any more, even by a thought, of the matier of ibe íuUing- 
milis, said Don Quixotc ; for I swear — I say no more — I 
will fui] that soul üfyou ! 

Sancho held his peace for fcar that his master wrould cany 
out ihe vow he flung at him so roundly.' 

Now, the tnith of the matter as to the helmet, 
I and the Knight that Don Quixote saw was chis, 
were in that neighbourhood two villages, one so snull; tbal 
it possesscd neither apothecary's shop ñor barber, whidí the 
other, ciase lo it, had ; and so the barber ol'the Urgcr VíKigc 
did duty for the smaller, in whicb was a siclt mün who 
rcquired to be blooded, and another who wanted shaving -, 
on which account the barber was coming, bnnging wíth him 
a brasa bason ; and it chanced that, at the time he was 
travelling, it cummenced to rain, and, not to spoil bis hat 
which was a new one, he clapt opon his head the bason, 
which, being a clean one, shone half a league oñ\ He rodc 
upon a grey ass, as Sancho said, and this was how to Oon 
Quixote there appeared the dapple-grcy steed, and the Knight, 
and the helmet of goid, for all things that he saw he madc 
to íall in very easily wíth his wild chivalríes and his vagaboiid 
fancies. And, when he perccived that luckless horseman 
draw near, without stopping to parley with him he ran at him 
with his lance couched at Rozinante's full gallop, with intcnt 
to picrce him through and through j and as he came up to 
him, without abating the fury of his career, he cried out : 

— Defend thyself, vile caititF crcaturc,* or tender mt 

folliag-milli." Smollett a itíll otare abaui 
milling." Jirvii, ai uiuil when he áoa bi 
Moltenx did before him. 
' Don Cüiiole 



«.king 






I " « mclini nither Ümb » 
.d hit tEit, pauH il bf, <t 

d pcnon plunl at tupaiariif. 



ximen ftom ■ Kni(hl lo hii ta< u ihc ñrac mectiiig 

a6o 



.. him round t* ■ btlL" 
ihc ntuil fbnn of iiiMiiww 




11 that which hy all right is my 

I The barber, who saw that apparition bearing áovrn upon 
m, without thought or apprehension of any such thing, 
had no oiher way to save himself from the thrust of the 
lance than to iet himself fell oíF his ass, and no sooner had 
he touched the ground than he rose more nimbly than a 
decr, and began to race across the plain faster than the wind. 
The bason he left upon the ground, with which Don Quixotc 
W3S wcll content, remarkíng that the Paynim had done wisel)', 
and that he had ¡mitated the beaver who, when he finds 
himself hard pressed by the huniers, tcars and cues off with 
his teeth that for which he Icnows by natural instinct he ís 
chased.' He bade Sancho pick up the hclmet, who, taking 
íl in his hands, said : 

— In sooth ihc bason is a good onc^ and worth a reai 
oí cight * if ¡t is worth a maraveát. 

He gave ¡t to his master, who placed it upon his hcad, 

Ilirning ít about from side to side in search of the vizor, 
sd, not finding it, he said : — Doubtless, the Paynim to 
pose measure this famous head-piece was ürst forged musí 
hA 



■^rllry fof the | 



ID the King 



II ifuX ri Knppi i geniuli • 



Bpirc JuvcDJl, Üei. 



Pliny, Id hi> Nt 



i¡ Hiiury, tdtn to tbii habí 

I lalf penad. 
Ji á Kkt — ■ lilver cain, MÍd by Covaí 
lo/f of lilver, — thereforc cqiul to two f^tt 

261 



c bovcr, which uu 



Don Quixote 



liavc haJ a very brge hcad, and the worst of ¡t is that half of 
it is wanting. 

When Sancho heard him cali the bason a head-piece, be 
could not contain his laughter, but, bethinkíng him of his 
mastcr's wrath, he checked himself in the niidsc of it. 

— What dost thou bugh at ? asked Don Quixote. 

— I am iaughing, replicd he, for thinking of the bjg hod 
the Paynim owner of this helmet must have had, for it looks 
for all ihe worid hite nothing but a perfect barber's bason. 

— Knowest thou what I suspect, Sancho ? That this 
famous piece of the enchanted helmet must by somc stningc 
accident have come into the hands of one who did not know 
or estecm its worth, and who, ignorant of what he did, 
seeing it to be of puré gold, must have melied down the other 
half of it to profic by its worth, and of this half he has made 
what looks to thee like a barber's bason, as thou say^t. But, 
be that as it may, to me who rccognise it, its transmutation 
makes no matter, for I will have it rectified in the first village 
where there ¡s a smith, and in such wise that it shalJ not be 
surpassed or even approached by that which was made and 
forgcd by ihc god of smithies for the god of batiles.' And, 
in the meantime, I will wcar it as I can, for something is 
better than nothing ; * all the more as it will wcll suiSce to 
protect me against any biow írom a stone. 

—That is, said Sancho, if they do not shoot from a shng, 
as they shot in the battle of the two armies when they 
marked your worship's grinders with the sign of the cross,' 
and broke the cruse whích hcM that blessed draught which 
made me vomit up my cntraila. 

— The loss of il gave me no great pain, said Don Quixote^ 
fbr, as thou knowest, Sancho, I have the reccípt in 
memory. 

1 Rdtrring tO the «tin» m»de by Volenn for Mnn. 

' Mat ^fúU aigt fn* ttaJa^-t proverb. 

* CuaaJii It uBligüSrar, ele. SaPlipar a |g bim 'by mnkÍDg <hc lij 

262 



I 



I Don Ouixote 

— So have I too, responded Sancho ¡ but if ever I make ii 
r uy it again as long as I live, let this be my last hour ; 
bore by token that I don't intend to put myself ¡n any case 
f needing it, for I mean to keep myself, with all my five 
senses, from being wounded or woimding anybody. As to 
being again blanketed, I say nothing, for sucb-líke mishaps 
are hard to prevent, and, if they come, thcre is nothing for 
it but 10 tuck in the shoulders, hold the breach, shut the 
eyes, and let yourself go where fortune and the blanket may 
send you. 

— Thou art a bad Christian, Sancho, said Don Quixotc, 
hearíng him say this, for thou wilt never forget the injury 
once done to thee ; know that ¡t ís the part of noble and 
gcncrous soub to make no account of trifles. What fixjt 
did you bring out of it lamed ? What ríb fractured ? What 
head broken, that thou canst not yet forget that joke ? For, 
the matter being wcll sifted, a joke and a pastime it was, 
and, had I not taken it so, I would have returned tbere and 
havc done more damage in avenging thee than the Grecfcs 
did for the rape of Helen, who, had she been of this age, or 
my Dulcinea of that, would assuredly not have attained so 
grcat a fame for beauty as she has. — -And here he breathed a 
sigh and sent it to the clouds, ~" 

Said Sancho ; — Let it pass as a jest, since the vengeanee 
cannot go for earnest,; but it is I who know the qualíty of 
the earnest and the jest, and I know, too, that they will not 
slip from my memory as they will never out of my shoulders, 
But leaving this aside, tell me, your worship, what we are 
to do with this dapple-grey sieed which looks so like a grey 
Bss which that Martino, whom your worship overthrcw, has 
left herc to shift for itself, for, by the way he took to his heels 
and gave leg-bai!,' he is not likely ever to come -back for it, 
and by my beard but the dapple is a good one. 

' Pulí /« pi/i 171 felvanij J cogü ¡ai di yiUeJiígi — two vuígar periphríiM for 
wiy. For the ñnl, lee nnle Lo the prcfaloty venei. p. 1^ Cígtr (or 

'63 



Don Ouixote 



—I am nerer accminmed, said Don Quixotc, to despoíl 
rbcsc whom I vanquish, iior is it thc custom in chivalrr to 
take tbdr horses and leavc rJiem to go a-fbot,' luile» it should 
happen that thc victor lose his own in the Aght, in which 
case it is bwful to lake that of the vanquishcd as won in &ir 
war. So, Saiicfao, Icave ihal borse, or ass, or whatcver thou 
wilt have it to be, for when ¡ts ownef secs us gone away from 
hcre he wiU retum for it. 

— God Icnows I should likc to take it, rcplied Sancho, or 
at leasi to swap it ibr thís of mine, which seems to me noi so 
good. Truly hut the laws of chivalry are strict, since thcy 
are not to be stretched into letting one ass be swapped for 
anoiher, and I would I knew if I míght swap thc trappíngs, 
however. 

— As to that I am not very certain,answered Don Quíxote j 
and in a case of doubt, until I am bctter infbrmed, 1 should 
say that thou mighiest change them, íf thy need of them be 
extreme. 

— So extreme is it, replied Sancho, that werc they for my 
own person I could not need them more. — -And then, being 
invested with this licence, he made muiatio capparum' and 

f"") ¡et (la/aii) Jt ftlladirp, ü an idioDUIic uying ai uoknowa orígio. Thc 
praomption Í\ IJiiI Villadíigo wu taoitbcMly wbo lled in B hnrry cui^ríog hia 
ttbui {hoK or brcecho] witb him, wiüiont bdng abl< to pul Ihem oo. Qneicdo, 
in hit yinta Ji h¡ Cíáiut, hu ■ plctunl nlloqny bctwHH Vargii (ilio tfa> 
mlject of ■ darle iiying : avtrigüeh Fofci, Ict Vargia &ai it oul) and Villadiego 
in which ihe Uttct rematlu : Sir, lince yon can find oDt unjttiing, do me ibe 
favonr of fiading oot whil wcte Vtlladicgo'i breecha, which tfaty all uke, etc. 

1 DoD QdíidIc'i ipccch, at ClemcnciD obuiva, ii hardly coniíitcat wilb 1)1* 
conducl, hf haviag jiut dapoilcd Úit barba of hit baion ; ñor i> he ascunte ói 
regard lo thE uiagt of chivalry. Il wii i ínqncnt practicc, ai it wu ihe tlght, 
pf thc Knigbu to detpoil ihoK whom ihcy had vm^ulihed. In i tooniaioait, 
thc horie and arraour of thr Knight avcithrawn wcrt Ijic ttcogniid perqaiilte* 
of hú con^ucror. 

* Mulata csffaniin, — achange of hooda, — a yeitly carmony in (be RoiBiah 

Chnrcb, whcn üie Cardinala anrl Prcltta of the Gnú eichanged Iheir opa-and 

Cloikl of fur for thoie of ailk. The ceiemony, widí which Cerranto, who had 

been a page in ibe urnce t>t Cardinal Acquiviva al Roine, niDtl have beta 

264 




Don Ouixote 



*decltcd oiit his ass wiih a ihousand fineries, leaving him vastly 
beitered.* This done, they broke thc¡r fast upon what was 
ieft of the commissariat which they had despoiled from the 
sumpter-muJe. They drank of the water of the stream which 
ran by the fulling-mills, without turning their faces to look 
at ihem, such was the loathing in which they held them for 
the fright they had caused ; and, their wraih and even thcir 
gloom removed, they mounted, and wiihout taking any fixed 
road (not to fix upon one being pecuUar to Knights Errant), 
they set off to journey whíther Rozinante's will plcased, 
which guided his master's, nay, the ass's, for the ass always 
followed him wherever he led, in good love and fcllowship j 

treturning withal into the high road and pursuing ¡t at random 
without any definite purpose. 
As they went aJong thus Sancho said to his master: — 
Sir, would your worship give me leave to talk with you a 
little .' For since you laid that hard command of silence on 
me several things have rotted in my stomach, and there's 
one I have now on the tip of my tonguc I don't wish to 
have spoilt. 

— Speak it, said Don Quixote, and be brief íii thy 
discourse, for none is pleasant if it be long. 

— I say then, Sir, rephed Sancho, thai for some days past 
lili now I have been considering how little is got and galned 
; about seeking for adventure such as your worship 
where, let the most 

n [iDc ofF by Popt Urtaa V, 
non. Pope Lío X. ratorcd 



by I 

r, taóeaüy Cook píate il Eailei. 



irithaul CDaimDil, bul it ii itmagc 
il babit in tpeakíng of ccdeiiiiü 



If I fahet Icft li^ÜOL 



a phtüM liken Itom the iota mi 



i ht miehl prdér. Thm, mtjrar a 



265 



■i^j ,u,«^l¡lcr.Ily. t 



Don Quixote 



perilous ones be won and achieved, therc is no one lo see us 
or to know of them, and so chey have lo remain in eterna! 
silencc, and to the harm of your worship's object and of 
whac ihey deserve. And thcrefore mcthinks ¡t would be 
beticr, saving your worship's better judgment, that wc 
should go to serve some Emperor or other grcat Princc 
who has a war upon his hands, in whose scrvice yon might 
dispiay ihe worth of your person, your mighty strength and 
greater understanding ; whích being perceived by ihc lord 
whom we shatl serve, he must perforce reward us, each 
according to his deserts ; and therc witl not be lacking 
some one to put down in writing your worship's dceds for 
evcrlasting remembrancc. Of my own I say nothing, (br 
they must not go beyond squirely limits, although I can say 
that if it is the usage of chivairy to write of thc deeds of 
squires, I think mine will not be left out. 

— Thou speakest not amiss, Sancho, responded Don 
Quixote ; but before that term is reached it is necessary to 
roam the worid, as though on probation, in quest of adven- 
tures, in order that by achíeving some we may acquire 
ñame and lame such that when we shall go lo the court of 
some great Monarch, the Knight may be aiready known by 
his deeds ; and that the boys, the momcnt they see him 
enter by the city gate, may all follow and surround him, 
crying out, saying i — This is the Knight of the Sun, or of 
the Serpcnt, or of some other device under which he may 
have performed great deeds. This is he, they will say, who 
vanquished in single combat the great giant Brocabruno of 
mighty strength, he that disenchanted the great Mamelukc 
of Persia out of the long enchantment in which he had 
been held for nearly nine hundred years. Thus they wil! 
go proclaiming his cxploits from hand to hand, and anón 
at the ciamour of the boys and the other people thcre wil! 
prcsent hímself at thc Windows 



King of that kingdom i and as s 

266 



; he shall : 



Don Ou'xote 



I 



Knighi, recognising him by his armour or by the device on 
his shield, he will fain exdaim : — What ho ! let my Knights 
go forth as many as are of my court to receive the flawer of 
chivalry who cometh yonder/— At whose command they 
will all sally out, and the King hímself will advance half- 
way down the stairs, and will embrace him very closely and 
give him welcome, kissing him on the face,' and then he 
will lead him by the hand to the chamber of his lady 
Queen, where the Knight will find her with the Princesa 
her daughter, who should be one of the lovelíest and most 
accomplished damsels to be found anywhere with the utmost 
paiiis through the greatest part of what is discovered of the 
earth. After this, h will happen incontinently thac she will 
bcnd her cyes on the Knight and he on hers, and each will 
appear to the other something more divine than human ¡ 
and, witliout knowing how or why, they will be imprisoned 
and entangled in the inextricable net of love, and with great 
anguish in their hearts through not knowing how they 
should speak in order to discover their pains and feelings. 
Thence they will conduct him, no doubt, to some chamber 
in the palace richly bedight, where, having removed hia 
armour, they will bring him a rich mantle of scarlet whcre- 
with to cover him ; and if ín his armour he had a goodly 
aspect, as well and goodlier wili he appear in doublet. The 
night being come, he wiQ sup with the King, Queen, and 
Princess, when he will never take his eyes off her, gazing at 
her undetected of the bystandcrs, and she will do ihe lilce, 
with the same circumspection, for, as I have said, she is a 
damsel mosi discreet, The tables being removed, there will 
cnter of a sudden by the hall door an ill-íavoured little dwarf 
with a beauteous lady, who comes at the dwarfs baclc 
betwecn two gianis, with a ccrtain adventure contrived by 
a very ancient sage, to the end that he who achíevcs it may 






:, vrty frcqocnl ín Ihe boolu of thív» 
267 



Don Ouixote 



be accounted the best Kníghi iu the world. The ICing 
wíU then cominand di ihose present to cssay il, and nonc 
shall give il isaue and conclusión save the stranger Knight, 
to ilic grcat enhancemcni of his femé, whercar the Princess 
will be overjoyed, and wül re-gard herself happy and eke well 
rec]uited for having placed and settled her fancies in a quarter 
so high. And the best of it is that this King, or Prince, or 
whatever he is, has a vcry obstínate war on with anothcr ü 
powerful as he, and the stranger ICnight, at the end of some 
days spent in his court, will requesi leave to go and sene 
him in the said war. The King will grant it with grcat 
good will, and the Knight will courteously Iciss his hands 
for the boon bestowed ; and that same nighl he will lake 
leave of his lady the Princess by the railing of a garden Ínto 
which hcr sleeping chamber givcs, through which he has 
already many times heid hcr in converse, the go-betwecn 
and confidante in all being a damsel much trusted by the 
Princess. He will sigh ; sbe will swoon ; the damsel will 
fctch water, will be greatly concerned bccause of the coining 
of day, and will not have them discovered for the honour of 
her mistress. Finally the Princess will come to herself, and 
will give her lily-whíte hands ihrough the grating lo the 
Knight, who will kiss them a thousand and a thousand 
times, and bathe them with his tears. The method by 
which they are to acquaint each other of their good or evil 
fortunes will be concerted between them; and the Princess 
will cntreat him to stay away as little time as he can ; he 
will promisc her w¡th many vows ; again he will IcÍM her 
hands, and will lake his leave in such grtef that it wJll go 
near ending his lifc, Thence he hetakes him" to hí» 
chamber ; flings himsclf on his couch ; is unable to slecp 
for sorrow at che parting j rises early in thc morning j 
goes to take leave of the King, the Queen, and the 
Princesa i they tell him, when he bids farcwell to ihe 
pair, that the lady Princesa h indisponed and cannot receive 
268 



tHAP. Zt 



Don Quixote 



the Knight belic 



1 te 



i from grief of his de- 



ICVC8 I 

parture j he is picrced to the heart, and is near gjving 
manifest tolten of his pain. The go-between damsel is 
priaeni ; has to note everything ; goes to tell it to her 
mistress, who receives it wilh tears, and says that one of 
her greatest alflictions ¡s not to know who her Knight may 
be, and whethcr he be of kiiig's lineage or not i the damsel 
assures her that so much courtesy, gentlencss, and valour as 
her Knight's could find no place but in a being Royal and 
illustrious i the anxíous one is consoled thereby, and scrives 
be of good cheer, so as not to givc her parents any 
itimcly suspicion of her ; and at the end of two days 
in public. The Knight is already gone ; he 
íights in the war ; vanquishes the King's enemy ; wins many 
cities ; triiimphs in many bacdes ; returns to the court ; 
his mistress whcre he was wont to do ; it is agreed 
(that he shall ask her of her father for wife in recompense 
his Services ; the FCing is not willing to give her to him 
because he does not know who he ¡s, but for all that, either 
through being carried ofF or in some manner whatever, the 
Princess comes to be his wrfe and her father to regard it as 
grcat good fortune, for it ¡s discovered that the said Knight 
is son to a valiant King of I know not what ICingdom, for 
I think it should not be in the map. The father dies ; the 
Princess inhcrits ; in two words, the Knight becomes 
fJCing^ Hcrc comes in at once the bestowal of fávours 
Ipon the squire, and upon all who helped the Knight in 

[ > Thu ipecch of Daa Quilate, ■ taadel of ripíd. conduiied nuntÍDn, ii the 
■caoc ■Dil epicome of a romuicc of ebívilry, iDch ii thote which (umed 

a ■□>! prFCcdcnii ín Ue booki. Even the itüi lad ttera Clcmencin, 
nuHl euctiag of grimmuittu, viíut aiUiiuiattíe ova Cervintet' vivid ind 
piciureique pcríoili, calling spon lu opecially la idmire the arC wilb which he 
puiet from ihe futun co ihe preicnt, ind (tum the {ireienl to the pait, in the 
■ ;e. — a natural and lawful lieviee to heighUn the forcé of the 
>liHU and m. 

269 



_ uiustriotis 
^KtO be of 
^■tintimely 

cit 
_ see 

Wt 



Don Quixote 



very 



mounting to so high an estáte. He marríes his squiíe t 
tbe Princess's damsel, who na doubt should be she wbo wa 
gi>between in their aoiours, and is daughte 
exalted Duke. 

— That's what I sale, and fttir play and no fevour/ said 
Sancho ¡ I hold to that ; for all to the lencr wül befáll your 
worshipi, calling yourself Tí* Knight of the Rueful Ftaiurt. \ 

— Doubt ¡t not, Sancho, replied Don Quixote ; for by 
the very same mode, and by the very same steps I havc 
described to thce, ICnights Erraní rise, and have rísen, to be 
Kings and Emperors. AU we want now is to look whzt 
King of the Christians or the Pagans is at war, and has a 
bcautiful daughter; but there will be time cnough to think 
of that, seeing, as I have told ihee, we have firet to acquire 
farne in olher parts beforc repairing to the court, There is 
also another thíng I lack, for, supposing a King lo be fbund 
with a war and a beautiñtl daughter, and that I have acquired 
incredible fame thruugh all the universe, I know not bow 
it can be made out that I am of Royal lineage, or second 
cousin at least to an Emperor, for the King wíU not like to 
give me his daughter until he is quite assured of thís, 
howcvcr mucb my femous deeds may deservc it, so that by 
this defect I apprehend I shall lose what my arm has wetl 
earned. True it is that I am a gentleman of a known 
house, of pQSsessions and property, and entitled to tive 
hundred sueldas reparation ¡° and it may be ihat the Sagc 

^ Ea fiidij burras dertchas, Sancho, cuticd awiy by hii mntcr'B cloquence, 
braki oDt into a flood of idiomi. Barrai átriciat—Üttnüf, "itriight btn," 
□r " burioi "— ^ ■ phnK boirawed boza icnne fime of the peñotf, prrhdp* bnurli, 
y^pu la ¡elért, Viardot moka it, which ii icircely ipproptíite. Il wanU be 
e»y ta clip □□ volgiriimi hcre, bal hudly Decciiiiry [□ brin); ost Sincba*! 



ir ihc Y 



ir of the I 



■ Dt árva^tr fairocmci miUsí, Aceordlng lo the Futro Jti^ (Firim 
yaJiam), ihe oíd Vlaigolhic code, which tnduted tili Che raga aF AUooo X.. — 
who emtedíed nlher tfain tapcncdcd Í( ia hit Siu PaniíLi, — Iherc wu ■ ngabr 
tale íceording lo which the Uva oí Ihí niíoue orden oí the camRiunity -mr 
valucd. Fot ún cíFending iny Hidal^, io petion, hanoai, or property, a 
270 



Don O^Jxote 



■ thi 
™ ...I 



who shall write my history wiU so eljicidate my parentage 
and descent as to prove me fifth or sixih in line from a 
King.' For I would have thee Icnow, Sancho, ihat there 
are iwo icinds of lineages in the worid ; ihose which trace 
and derive their descent from Princes and Monarchs, which 
time hath littie by líttie diminisbed, which have ended ín a 
point lilce a pyramid ; the others which take ihcir source 
from low people, and go ascending from step to step tüI 
chey arrive at being great lords ; so that the difFerence Ís 
that the one'were what now they are not, and the others are 
'hat they never wcre j and I might prove, after investiga- 
be of thosc who had a great and famous origin, with_ 
which the King, my father-Ín-law who is to be, ought to be 
satisfied. And even if he is not, the Princess wÜI love me 
to such a degree as that, in spiíe of her father, though she 
mav know me plainly to be the son of a water-carrier,* she 
witl receive me for her lord and husband ; and, if not, here 
comes in the carrying of her ofF and taking her whcre I 
please, for time or death must end the displeasure of her 
paren ts.' 

— Therc comes in herc, too, said Sancho, what certain 
scapegraces say : — Never aslt as a favour what you can take 
by forcé ; — though it were more pat to say : — A leap o'er 

penalty oí 500 BuUa (luVi'O ""> ímpoted i foi the time to 1 pcitoa oí lower 
giaile ■ leii inm, iccoidÍDg to hit condition. Tbui di ¿rtiagiir fuiniíñíai aiUa 
oune 10 be the dmominalion of i gcntleman. A ualdn, mnaing etymologically 
Doliiing ímt bitd " eiih," wii a coin oí which ic i> nía and needle» to fií the 
¡Hcciie viIdc in unt nioaey. 

' Thi> it preeiKly whal liter genatogiili have done with Cervintei himtelf, 
Ntwrrete práig ui ■ genciloeicil tiee of [he &mily of Cervsnleí, of whích the 
root ipringí from « rin-^oou' of Caitile in 9SK, aod from leveril of the branchei 
of tvhicb hing moDirebi. auch » Alfonio Xt. mil Fcrdinand of Angón, 

' Un íiaun — 1 word of Aiibic orígin, la wai the trade. In 1 couatry 
likt Spain, where waleí it preeioD», the mtcan, who, in the itvtniecoth century, 
ttai chiefly a Freoch Provcn^l, letumed home lomctimti, aayí Covatiubiu, 
wiih muih wraLih. 

* Don Quliotc, in the hcighl of hii ínuiy, forgeti cvcn Dulcinea, — carrying 
olf Sancho alto (o forgft bíi wife. 

171 



Don Ouixote 



thc hcdgc is bcttcr than good men's praycrs ; ^ I sajr so 
because ¡f my lord the FCing, your worshíp's (áther-in-law, 
will not come down to hand my lady Princess over to you, 
tbere is noching fbr it but, as your worship says, to carry her 
ofTand hidc her. Bul the mischief is thac, untíl you have 
made peace and are enjoying your kingdom comfortaUy, the 
poor squirc may go whistle ^ for the matter of rewards, unlcu 
thc damsel go-between, who has to be his w\fc, runs away 
along wiih her misiress and with her tides over his bad luck 
until Heaven ordains otherwise, for bis mastcr, I supposc, 
would be able to give her to him at once as his tawrul wife. 

— There is no one cají prevent that, said Don Quixotc 

— Thcn, since it may be so, answcrcd Sancho, thcre tt 
nothing for it but to cammend ourselves to God, znd let 
fortune run what road it will. 

— God send it accordíng to my desire and thy vrants, 
Sancho, gaid Don Quixote -, and mean be he who bcars him 
mcanly.' 

— Let him, in God's ñame, answered Sancho ; for I am 
an oíd Christian, and that's good cnough for í Count. 

— And more than enough for thee, said Don Quixote ; 
and, weri thou not one, il would be no matter, for I, being 



1 Thtic 


re 1*0 proverb.. ih 


KíonJ of which. 


Mí TVlt »//> Jt mala foi rvgm 


d>¿«w^ 


ér,i. thoogh iu mea 


nbg i. .implexo 


gfa.h» been iinogel)' twiiicd 




d by llie belief th 


11 MU h» 




a Ao wth maur, to 


kül. One rvea m 


ilcei il - bcttcr [< tbr nmoin'* 


^t.^■■ «t-i 


while «nother leUi 


DI Ihit «MU il " 


m dU equivalral 


for MMm^ 


'lUughtw.' 


' Bl>t mu b lin 


ply . hejge. oí biah. «d bar. no 


Rlition t* 


.Uughlo. 




it írom thí Hfbn» «uufí. The 


pMwbiía 


my Dld oD 




tbt time wh™ rü 


d> wcre iniecnre 


Od wV-lMlp 


the bttt pro 


cction. Fcmiado 


e Baílenle, inh 


colteclioa. thiu 


urMftinra 


Litin vene 


_ 










To pedibu» confiJe toi(, praábu 


SMne?.lo 


^H 




Spem ™i=e. 


ulDin arpe lilullt iUt. 


fl 


'&^¿r 




idiota, L'lEnlIy " 


oKontwAh.-iobt^^H 


alise i tieiice, lo be without w 


■t fon toag fm. 




^^^H 


' J^«'"í«/»'™""»" 


— « pnivtrb. 




^^H 






272 




^^1 



Don Ouixote 



King, can easily give ihee nobiliiy witliüut ihy bringing or 
rendering me any scrvicc ; and in makíng ihec a Count, 
prtstú ! thou art a gentleman, and let thctn say what they 
will, for by my feith they will have to cali thee your Lord- 
ship, in thcir own despite. 

— Trust me for that,' quoth Sancho ; I will know how 
lo supporl my pattern.^ 

— Pal<n¡ thou must say, not pattern, said his inaster. 

■ — So be it, rcplied Sancho ; I say I should know how to 
demcan myself, for on my life I was once on a time beadle 
of a brotherhood,' and the beadle's gown became me so weil 
that every one saíd I had a presence might do for a warden 
of the same brotherhood. What will it be, then, when I 
put a Duke'a robe on my back, or be clothed ¡ji gold and 
pearls líke the fashion of a foreign Count ?' I'll be bound 
thcy'U come a hundred leagues to see me, 

— Thou wilt look well, said Don Quixotc ; buc thou 
wilt need to shave thy beard often, for thou hast ¡t so 
thick, matted, and unkempt, that unless thou usest a razor 
two days at Icast they wíU see what thou art a gun- 
ofF. 

What more is to do, saíd Sancho, but to take a barber, 
anil keep him on wages in the house ? And, if more is 
nceded, I will malee him foltow behind me like a grandee's 
groom. 

' Mimun t uihich Ü¡c diclionarjci tay ii a loui cipreoion, mcaaiDg ii piiJiwi, 

' Sancho, blDndering ovcj the uníiniiliar woH, tayt /iudc intlad of áklada, 

"djgnity, tillt." It U imponilsle, oí connc, lo pmeivc the blnniter literiLly. 

m itpfíti thí origin.l «ord : "Thinlt •joa that I would not luthoriif 

ally, a rclígíaiu conítn- 




Don Ouixote 



— But how dost thou know ihai gnmdces carry iheir 
grooms behind them ? aslced Don Quixotc. 

— I wiü tell you, answered Sandio ; some years ago I was 
a month in the Court,' and I saw there taking a walk a very 
little lord who, thcy said, was a grcat grandec,* and a man 
fbllowed him on horseback, turning everywhere as he turned, 
ju5t as ¡f he were his tail. I asked why that man díd not 
ride cióse to the other, but always weni behind him ; thcy 
answered me that it was his groom, and that íc was the 
fashion for grandecs to carry such behind them ; ever since 
then I know it so well, for I havc never forgoiten it. 

— I confess thou art right, said Don Quixote, and so 
mayst thou carry thy barber, for fohions carne not all 
together, ñor were invented at once, and thou maysi be the 
first Count to carry a barber behind hím ; and, indecd, the 
dressing of a beard is a greatcr trust than the saddlíng of a 
horsc. 

— Leavc the matlcr of the barber to my charge, said 
Sancho, and to your worship's be left the atlcmpting lo be a 
King and the making of me a Count. 

— -So it shaL be, replied Don Quixote. — And, raising hií 
eyes, he saw what will be told ¡n the next chapter. 

' Eit U Ceric, — mcioing Mafltiil, " ihe only Coorl," it Spuiuib fóadljr tvn 
it, which w» madc the upitsL af Spain hy Philip II. ín i (6o. Thii ñ the taly 
menliaQ oí Sinclia'i viiíl to the opiul. of wllich unlikel)' cvctil CleOMacía 
cbiDiu he would have ipoken more had it icalljr occurrni. 

* Ooe of Che ver7 üw diirct penooii iltiiiíoiu ia Dq* SljaxMí. Tht* ■■ Uttle 
lord " mutt have txxn, Pellidí txlícvc*, Doo Pedro Gíron, Duke of 0*uja«, a 
mao &moa» Íq the bíatory of Chat p«riod^ who wai Víceroy of NapJci aí^d fUled a 
luge ipice in Spasiih afüiii. An luliao híttoríiiQ uy) Ihat he bnil "nothing o[ 
the little about him bat hb ititnrc" The fiÜKt of thía hera, Don Juan TcUu 






Cooile dt Ureña, ii 



(Mting lo 



te ^indfiLther of our author. to the poit of cun-tglder oí the t( 



ipfoiatcd Juan de Cerlw 



aafO 



CHAPTER XXII 

Offht libtrty wfíich Don ^ixatt gave to several un/ortunala 

■whs, much againit theír wilL, were being carricd la vjhtrt 
they had na w¡¡h te ga 

km Hamet Benengeli, the Arabian and Manchegan^ 
thor, relates in thís most grave, high-sounding, minute, 
Bweet, and conceited history that, aftcr ihat colloquy had 
passed between the tamous Don Quixote of La Mancha and 
Sancho Panza, his squire, whích Ís reponed at the end of the 
Twcnty-First chapter, Don Quixote hfted up his cyes and 
saw coming along the road he was taking some dozcn meo 
on foot, striing together on a great iron chaín like beads, by 
the ncck, and all with manacles on their hands, Thcre carne 
also with ihem two men on horseback and two on foot, those 
on horseback with firebcks,* and those on foot with swords 
U)d javelins ; and as soon as Sancho saw them, he cried :■ — 



» Thbittliíonlxps 



gi<e) Clü Him^l'i uationilily m Sluíditpa, 
1 biltFrnni in the fyet of the pmple of La 
o D<m SluiíHit, for it ia mentioncil ihil the 
fuUy bcrejfter, were vcry aumcroui iit the 



^ and 

^Kjblttcl io which the Kcnc of the 

H * Eiapttji Ji ruaia, Tbise wcro fírclocka, ín which tbc powder in Ihe pío 

wu ignited by mev» of a imiU wheel by whieh the flint wm ttrnck. They 
íutocedcii ihe mitthlock» (arctiua), whích were in me by the Spjoúh iofantty 
m the win of Chmlet V. The ino/uU ptopcr. oi iicnplc Rmtioclc, in which the 
cuRkbroui machincry of tbc wheel wu díicarHeil, then followed, — tiie ilmpte 

275 



Don Ouixote p*«t. 

This Í9 a chain of galley-slavcs, people forccd ' by tbc King, 
who are goíng to the galleys. 

— How ! people forced ? aslced Don Quixotc í is it po8- 
sible that the King should enforce any onc ? 

— I say not thal, answercd Sancho ; but thcy are people 
who are condemned for their ofFences to serve the King in 
the galleys per forcé. 

^In lact, replicd Don Quixote, be ii how it may, these 
people, since thcy are being taken, go by forcé and not of 
their own wiil. 

— That is so, said Sancho. 

— In that case, then, said his mastcr, here comes in the 
cxercise of my office, to redress outrages and lo succour and 
aid the afflicted. 

— Let your worship rcflect, said Sancho, that justice^ 
which is the King's sc!f, does no violence or wrong to sucfa 
people, only it diastises them in punishment of their crtmes, 

Here the galley-slave chain carne up, and Don Quixote^ in 
very courteous terms, bcsoughi those who were in charge of 
them to be good enough to infomi and tell hím the cause or 
causes whcrefore they were conveying those people in that 
manner. One of the guards on horscbaclc answercd ihai 
they were galley-sla ves,— people bclonging lo his Majesty, — 
who were going to the galleys, and that there was no more 
to say ñor for him any more to know. 

— Neverthelcss, replied Don Quixote, I would Icnow 
from each of them singly the cause of his misfbrtunc. — ^To 
these he added olher words, and so courteous, to induce them 
to tell him what he wanted to Icnow, that the other mounted 
guard said to him ; — Although we bear with us the rcgistcr 
and the warrant of the scntence of cach of thcsc unfortuiutcs, 
this is no time to takc them out and read them. Your 
wotship may come and ask it of themselves, for they tmy 



' CoUf firmada, i 



■U gaUcy-iUvct vf» aMci. The FttD<b ituvt *« 
Don Qoúote taltu the pfaroe in lU primitin nsnl 

276 



Don Ouixote 



Bpecn 



Rtoll it xf they picase, and they will, for thcy are gentry who 
take a pleasure in acting and in telüng thcir rascalities. 

With this licence, which Don QuÍKote would have talten 
for himself had they not given ít, he went up to the chain 
and enquired of the first one for what sins he went in such 
ill guise. He answered, ihat it was for being in love. 

For that and naught else ? cried Don Quixote ; but if 

being in love people are sent to the galleys, I should have 
puih'ng an oar there long ago. 

-The love ís not of ihc sort that your worship imagines, 
said the galkv-slave ; mine was that I Joved over-much a 
buck-baslcet stufFed with white linen, which I embraced so 
tightly that if the law had not taken it from me by violence, 
I would not, of my own free will, have forsalcen it til! now. 
I was talcen in the act ; ^ there was no need for the question ; 
the cause was concluded ; they fitted my back with a hun- 
dred, and three ycars of gurapat" to boot, and the job was 
done. 

— What are gurapas ? asked Don Quixote. 

— Gurapas are galleys, answered the galley-siave, who 
was a young fellow of about twcnty-four years of age, and a 
nativc, he said, of Piedrahita.' 

Don Quixote put the like question to the second, who 
answered not a word, he was so downcast and melancholy, 
But the first answered for him, and said ;— He, Sir, goes for 
a canary-bird, — -I mean for a musicían and singcr.* 

— How then, replied Don Quixote; do men also go to 
the galleys for being musicians and singers ? 

I Trii ¡ñu ilt ¡artifui, The fint cdition dF 1605 hid rr«^(riuj thciecoad. 
Ld by Ccrvanto, la 1608, >i ibavc. Gurapa a t word from 

■ PMrakiu, a tmill lawD of Oíd Catlile, on the roíd bclwecii Silanunca in^ 

whcre, in the latt ccntury, wii > noble pilace of the AIvii. 
' CiiHr», in Ctrnumia, ii one whü língí oul — ij, confcuei, under loTIun. 






EBgl..h 



■ .l«g in 



277 



Don Quixote 



— Yes, Sir, replied ihe gallcy-slavc ■, for there is nothing 
worsc thzn sínging ín the anguish. 

— 1 havc hcard say, rather, said Don Quixote, tJiat he 
who sings fnghicíis away boitow,' 

— Here ít ís just the contrary, saíd the gallcy-slave i kr 
he who sings once vrctps all his life. 

— I do not understand it, said Don Quixote. But one 
of the guards said to him : — Sír Knight, among these ungodly 
people to stng in the anguish means to confess undcr torture. 
They put this sinner to the torture, and he confesscd his 
ofFencc, which was that he was a cuatrero^ that is, a catlle- 
lifter i and on his confession they condemncd him to the 
galleys for six years, besides two hundrcd lashes which he 
takes on hís baclc, and he goes ever downcast and sad because 
the rest of the thíeves who remain behind and they who 
march with us maltreat, abuse, ñout, and dc^pise him, for the 
reason that he confessed and had noc splrit enough to say 
nay ; for, as they say, a nay has as many letters as an ■>/«,* 
and that it is luck enough for a criminal, when hís Ufe or 
death stands on his own tongue and not in that of witnesses 
or proofs ; and, for my part, I thinic they are not hr out. 

—And so think I, said Don Quixote ; then, passíng on 
to the ihird, he put to him the same question as to the others, 
and the man replied very readíly and coolly, saying : 

—I go for five years to their ladyships ihe gurapas for 
being short of ten ducats. 

— I wiU give twenty with all my heart, said Don Quixote, 
to free you from this trouble. 

— That looks to me, responded the gallcy-slave, lílcc one 
who has moncy in the midst of the sea and is dying of 
hungcr, wíthout any where to buy what he needs. I say so, 
because if I had possessed those twenty ducats which your 



' ¿lfi«.«-M 









- ou uic Ki|«7 111 1.EI Tuluí uuveÍ of Lo GiamlU ayt—dtl ñ mI do ■ jUthi 

JifirfíKÚ. The pbruc onura *Uo in ffioiimifr y Orudi/U. 

278 



jon (puixote 

thip now ofFers me at the right time, I would have 

greased the notary's pen wilh them and quíckened the 
advocate's wit, so that to-day you would see me in the middle 
of the Zocodover square at Toledo,^ and noi on this road 
ieashed like a greyhound. But God is great : pati'ence, and 
ihat's enough, 

Don Quixote passed on to the fourth, who was a man of 
venerable aspect, with a white beard flowing down past his 
breast, who, on hearing hímself aslced of the cause of his 
being there, began to weep and answered not a word i but 
the fifth convict served him for tonguc, and said : — This 
honourable man goes to the galleys for four years, having 
paraded the rounds ' in state and on horseback. 

— I'hat is, as I take it, aaid Sancho, exposed to public 

nc. 

— It is 80, replied the galley-slavc, and the offence for 
wKich thcy gave him this punishment is the having been an 
car-broker, nay, a whole body-broker.* In short, I mean 
that this gcntleman goes for a pander,* also for having some 
smack and touch of the sorcerer.* 

• P/ju Ji Zocorfiw.fr. "ihe «jniire of Zocodover," ii * pleoojim, eommon 
cnoDgh in [he rnaatlu of SpiDUidi. wbo igaotiatl; ot «ilfiíllf miitikc tbc 
mcuimg of the Anbic nunu of pltcct, at i/ puau it jilcánure, wbich ñ " Üw 
brid^ of the bridgc " i tJ rio Guadalquivir^ ti caítUlo ¿t Alcalá, — the auna 
Guadatqávit and jlltalÁ includiog the temu rívcr ind caille. Zocodover, the 
thkl maut of the eily of Toledo, ii i comiplion of the Aribic nanie, whíeh ii 
variouily ralerpreled io Covirrobüt ai "great iqnatt" and " aule-matket." 

' Peiítát lai aciinmiradaí (laüti). Críminib Died to be KOteoced (o be 
piradeil on horicbíclc through ceitain iVK[Dcnted •tieelt, with a phicird on the 
breatl ileclaring their aimt, befóte beíng whipped. 

' CorrtJsr Ji irtja, applíed ocíginally to thoie who do butiae» on the Ei- 
chxDge ; ihcB, meliphorícilly, lo thue who pome ihe ttade of biwd or pandci. 

" jilcalmtlt, * wotd of Arable origin, thoagh the pretiie etyraology ii doubtful. 

' Pumai y aliar ¿t ¡HckUtn — literally, " pomtt id<Í collar " of a lorcerer. 
The futttai were of Ucc ot embfcñdery, drcorating (he «idt of the long pcndeat 
collar» ihco fathionable, called valtm. Thu, by metaphor, fiaaaiy íollir carne 
lo lataa (he fringu, adommenti, decorab've additioni of any office. "A little 
witehcr«ft," Shcllon hai it. 
279 



Don Ouixote 



— Had he not added that smack and touch,^ 
Quixote, as a puré pander only he did not deserve to be sent 
to row in thc gaileys, rather to coirimand them and to be 
thcir general, for the office of pander is no ordinary onc, but 
an office for persons of discretion, and one most neccssary ín 
the well-ordered commonweairh, and none should cxercise it 
but pcople very well born ; nay, there should be an overseer 
and examiner of such, as therc are for oiher professions, with 
a certain number appoínted and recognised, like brokers on 
thc Exchange. And ín thís way many of the evils tnigbt 
be avoided which are caused through the office and profession 
getting into thc hands of idiots and persons of small under- 
standing, such as sÜiy, worthless women, little pages, and 
bulfoons, raw ín years and of very h'ttie cxperience, who, oa 
the most critical occasion, and when the management of an 
important afFair is ncedcd, let the morsets freezc betwcen the 
finger and the mouth,^ ñor know which is their right hand. 
Fain wouid I go farther and give reasons why it is expedicnt 
to mate elecrion of those whu should hold so necessary zn 
office in the State, but thís is no (it place to do so ¡ somc 
day I will speak of the matter to them that can provide a 
remedy.^ Only thís I say now, that the pain whJdi hu 
becn caused me by the sight of these whitc hairs and ihis 



' By a ÜM i™ 


).. I. 


uiiui mucfa 


miiin 


sprcteil, Cuvintet latia oni the 


tnde of .orccTíT (o 


btm 


«t d.og«ou. 


lOthí 


SlalE thao that of piaip. 


* & k, Hilan ü, 


«iVd 


UOTC h ¿Oí^ 


v^* 


«^-í ptov«b!.l phrae. ipidled lo 


tbiHC who «re nígUgtnl 


T ,low in tbdr «ffi. 




' ThcMIbumo 


ur of thiilpwch — n 


hichto 


nicIroníialonhiVílhoBghtillieeM. 


uryCocipUinimp 




ui but ironic 


1— bi 


M on tboK who. like Colerídge. b*. 


lievcthMCtrvíWa 


hcn 


■dropihUlIuikia 


ipealu for hitnidf." The tpecch ia 


idcolrably in dura 


tcr w 


tb 0OB Qu 


lOtcil 


d, Hite >1[ hit ipcrcha, reflecu hit 


«•ding. Covuiln Bcit 


r Ice. .¡ght 


of tbe 


msin purpoiE of bi> itory, whídi h 


to ridiculc the rom 




of chiv.lry. 




poinl mrc thcy more offentiw lo 


jood moTíii Ihao 


n tbí 


w.y thcy « 


>ll th( 


offiía hcrc retcrred to. Th« aum 



'riatinguiíheil pcnonogctin ihc Uler booki of chivalrlcí «rfEnotibovc engigingm 
ihi bitiin»! i uid in iruth thc high-bom ladiu of raminn! necded litilc el 
brolcerage. Evcn the X 



«8o 



fon 



íuixote 



w 
ti 
lo 

■^ ai 



iVenerabie countenauce Íji so much trouble for pandcnng, has 
bccn removed from me by his adiling of sorcerer to his 
character, although I weU know that there are no sorcerers 
in the worid which are a ble to influenccand constrain the 
ill, as some simpletons believe ; for our wilJ is free, and 
j herb or charm whích can compel it. That 
which ceriain silly women and certaín roguish ímpostors are 
wont to do is 10 make mixtures and poisons with whích [hey 
turn men mad, making out that they have power to excite 
leve i it being, as 1 say, a thing impossible to forcé the wül. 
That is so, said the o!d fellow, and in truth, Sir, I am 
;uilty in the matter of ihe sorcery ; as to that of the 
limping, I caiinot deny it ; but I never supposed I was doíng 
any harm in that, for ail my intention was that everybody 
shoulü cnjoy himself and live in peace and quiet, without 
quarrels or troubles. But this my exccllent motive availed 
me nothing to save me from going whence I never hope to 
return, as my years are a burden on me, and an ailment in 
the uriñe which gives me not a moment's case. — And here 
he fell to weeping again as before. And so great was the 
compassion which Sancho fclt for him, that he took a real of 
four ' out of his bosom and bestowed It upon hím as alms. 

Don Quixote passed on and enquired of anoiher what 
was his offence, who replied with no less but rather more 
sprightliness than the last :/— I am going hcre because 1 
pbycd the fool too far with two of my female cousíns, and 
otlier two cousins which were none of mine. In short, I 
fooled with them all so much that the resuli of the joke was 
an increase of Icindred so íntricate that no calculation can 
make ít cicar. It was all provcd against me ; I had no 
inierest ; I had no money ; I carne near to having my 
wind-pipe chokedi^ they sentenced me to the galley for 



ira¡*árrti. ■ picaroque pcriphi 




"=«:Acii to ),¡, ^. ■ ''"ni wl 
"■l-HWdí.vr"'.'-""'"™ 



r 

^^B Ihat 

^^B fcarc 

^^^1 once tt 



'," 'tal 6sh„ 






""foj ita, , 



Icol 



"™-«".i«*s',r 



' lie tuní .7" . ' ''^ í""'" Ljitlni., . 



Don O^ixote 



— What crimes, then, can he liave committed, said Don 
Quixote; if they have not merited a hcavier penalty than 
to be sent to thc galleys ? 

— He gocs for ten years, repHed the warder, which is 
like civil death ; yon need learn no more than that thís 
good fellow is the íamous Gincs de Pasamontej^ otherwise 
called Ginesillo de Parapilla. 

— Fair and softiy, Master Coramissary, said the galley- 
slave ac this, and let us noC go splitting oF ñames and sur- 
names now. I am Ginés and not Ginesillo, and Pasamonte 
is my fámily ñame, not Parapilla, as you say, and let every 
onc turn about and look at home, and he will be doing not 
a little. 

— Speak less impudemiy, sir thief beyond measurc, replíed 
the commissary, imless you would have me silence you to 
your grief. 

— ít may be seen, rctorted the galley-slave, that man 
goes as God pleases, but some day somebody shall Icnow 
whether my ñame is Ginesillo de Parapilla or not. 

— Do they not cali thee so, then, rascal ? said the warder, 

— Yes, they do, answered Ginés ; but I will take care 
thai they don't cali me so, or I wíU pluck them* — but no 
mattcr where, Sir Knight, if you have anything to give 
ug, give it to us now and be gone in God's ñame, for you 
weary rae, by wanting to know so much of other mcn's 
lives ; and if you want to know about mine, know that 
I am Ginés de Pasamonte, whose Lífe these fíngers have 



I turlmine p«ro, i brnlhei to 
nanym il<o of Ponfitai, onc 
;t [lut imong [he 



wntten. 



¡a thc namf of i gUnt In Pul 
Morganlc, who woi (liio by Orlindo. tt ú a 

principal inhlMUnti of thc lown of Tembleque in La Man 

Aloma Sanchei de PuunoDie, mi conjecturcí that pouibly there nuy be here 

tarta penonal itluiJoD of which ifae poínl ii loii. 

' An apogiopata. tt Í> tbe warder'i beard thit Ginó threaleni lo pluck, 
'ing hil thlest. hawever, before be hii concluded, nfre /m Jitmii. 

283 



Don Ouixote 



— He says truc, cricd the commiasary ; for he liimsdf 
has wricten his story, which leaves nuthing to be desírcd, 
and has left the boolc ín prison plcdgcd for two hundred 
rtals. 

— Ayc, and I íntend to redeem it, said Ginés, had V\ 
it for two hundrcd ducats. 

— Is it so good, then ? asked Don Quixote. 

— Tis so good, replied Ginés, that the deuce take LaxariiU 

de Termes ' and all the othera of that kidney, which have 

becn or may be written. What I may tell you is ' 

deals with truths, and truths so prctty and plcasant i 

. bes can come up to thcm. 

—And how is the booic entitlcd ? asked Don Qxih 

— Thi Lift ofGinés de Pasamente^ replied the same. 

— And is it finished? Don Quixote enquired. 

—How can it be (inished, answered he, if my life 
yet finished? What ís written is from my birth up lo the 
point when they sent me to the galleys this last lime. 

— Then you have been there beforc ? said Don Quixote. 

— For the service of God and the King * I have becn there 
once bcfore for four years, and I know ihe taste already of 
biscuit and buU's pizzle,* answered Ginés ; ñor does it grieve 
me much to go there, for there I shall have time to finish 

' The ümoi» ]HCiim^De novel by Diego Hiutado ile MenilDii. pUUgeit by Le 
S>ge. Il wu i[ fint prohibited by [he la^niíition, ind oiity publithed in i ;j;, 
Iwo year» befcrr the luthar'i death. Ai Cervsnle» h»d iliewhtrc pmúed ihi houlc 
and the luthur vcry highiy, we may fiíirly alJow SeRcr Clenuocin hia o^oloa 
Ihit thii dcpreciation of il put ia(a ttic maath oÍ Paiamonlc w» ironical. 

' A ilrolte of humour re peaKil in Riicimtii y CerudiJh, wherf tht fotla«-in| 

perchulcc 4 Ihlcfí " C. "Yctj Cor the lervlce of God lad ibe guul people" — 
parí KTtv i Día/ j k iaau ¿mu. 

* BhíKM y eriaeh. The bticuit, — iixiscii, — " twlce eovkeil," wai ihc 
con vid'* ioaá, af which twenlyHix oaacci tvent to ■ ntioo, «ccoriling to Cimuí 
</r jilfiricÁi (pt. ii. ble iü. ch. vüi.). The ariacit, lued by ihe mnn, u 
boiiiwaia OD bMrd of ibe galley, (o pruuvc orilcr, !■ ■ word of Arabic i 
the modera Bgyptiati tariati. 






Don Quixote 



my book ; ^ and 1 havc siJll many things lett to say ; and in 
thc galleys of Spaín there is more Icisure than ¡s needed, 
though I need not much for what I havc to write, for I know 

Iit by heart. 
• — You seem to be a cievcr fellow, said Don Quixotc. 
I — And an uniucky onc, responded Gincs, for bad luclt 
Uways pursues genius. 
I — It punues knaves, remarketl ihe commissary, 
I — I havc said to you already, Master Commissary, go 
^ftly ; iheir lordships never gave you that stafF to maltreat 
(is poor devib who go here, but to guide us and carry us 
where his Majesty commands ; if not, by ihe life of 
ienough ! there will come out some day in thc bucking the 
stains got in the wíne-shop ; and let every one bridle his 
tongue, and live weil, and speak better, and let us jog on, 
for it's gctting too much of a treat is this. 

k^Thc commissary raised his stafF to strike Pasamonte in 
Murn for his threats, but Don Quixote interposed and praycd 
im not to ili-treat the man, as ¡t was not much that he who 
had his hands tied should have his tongue a httie loóse. 
And, turning to all who were on the chain, he said : 

— From al! that you have told me, dearest brethren, I havc 
gathered clearly that although it is for your crimes thcy have 
punished you, yct the penalties you endure give you no great 
plcasure, and that you go to them with a very bad grace and 
very much against your witl, and thai possibly this one's 
little couragc on thc rack, that one's lack of money, the other's 
want of interest, and, in short, the pcrverted judgment of the 
judgchasbeen the cause of your ruin and of your láüurctoget 
that justicc which you had on your side. All this doth now 



' AccotiJing to a prcAtory eotict by H> luthor, Maten Alemán 
Gnmaii dr jfíjiíraeit, of vrtiith Úie publiutÍDa wat ilmoil t/nch] 
Du ^ÍMU, wu wricten by tl»t bao Cioai ihe gaílcyt. Ccrvinl 
■con 10 havc thuughl «> macb of Gmibia Ji Aífaraclu (whicfa, ii 
~ v¡i irirt prodnction) ii of ififrectcieHor and modfl, LsnntUlo 

285 



. iií ./ 




Don Ouixote 



present itsclf to my miiiii %o as lo prompt, penuade, and eveti 
compel me lo demónstrate in you ihc purpose for whicb 
Heavcn sent me into thc worid, and madc me profiíss tbcreJn 
ihe ordcr of chivairy whích 1 Ibllow, and thc vow which I 
»x>lc under tt to support the needy and tliosc oppressed of 
thc strongcr. But forasmuch as I know th»t it is one of 
the properties of prudence not to do by foul mcans what can 
be done by feir, 1 wouM entreat thesc gentfcmcn, your 
guardians, and the commissary to be good enough to retrase 
you and lo let you go in peace, as there wíD be no lacle of 
others to serve the King for better cause ; and to me ít 
seems a hard case to malee slaves of tltose whom God and 
Nature made free ; — how much more, Sir Warders, added 
Don Quixotc, seeing these poor féllows havc done nothing 
against you i let cach one answer for his sin yonder ¡ 
therc is a God in Heaven who doth not neglect to chasdse 
the wiclced ñor to rewaid the good, and it is not meet that 
honest men should be the execufioners of othcr men having 
no concern wíth ihe matter. I ask thís of you ín this caJm 
and quict manner so that I may havc somcthing to thank 
you for should you comply with my request ; and if you 
will not do it willingly, then this lance and this sword, 
with the strengih of my arm, shall make you do it upon 
compulsión. 

—A pretty piece of fboling I saíd the commissary i it is 
a capital jest wíth which he has come out at last ! He wants 
US to let go the King's prisoners, just as if we had authority 
to free them or he lo order us to do so ' Go away with 
you, Sir, in a good hour ; and put that bason Straíghl you 
carry on your head, and don't go looking for three feet in 
thc cat.' 

'Tis you are the cat, the rat, and thc rasca], returned 
Oon Quixotc. — And with word and decd together he assathxi 

> BnimiiJii Ira fi/i ai gtn — a províTb¡ ihc tomct tnó more i 
<iiKt fiíi, ' iMkiag fot fiw ftct " in ■ cal. 



Don Ouixote 



ana 



lenly that, without givíng him lime to defend 
himself, he brought him to earth soreiy wounded with a 
thrusí of his lance ; and ¡t so happened, fortunately for him, 
that this was the one with the firelock.^ The other warders 
stood amazed and confbunded at this unexpected cvcnt, 
but, rccovering themselvea, those on horseback clapt hands 
to thcir swords and thoae on foot to their javelins, and set 
upon Don Quixote, who awaited them with much com- 
posure ; and, without doubt, ic would have gene hard with 
him ¡f the galley-slaves, seeing the chance ofFer itself of 
achieving their frecdom, had not seized it by breaking the 
chain by which they werc línked together. Such was the 
confusión that tbe warders, now running to the galley-slaves 
who were breaking loóse, now attaclting Don Quixote, who 
was prepared for thcir onset, did nothing to any purpose. 
Sancho, on h¡s part, helped in the reléase of Ginés de Pasa- 
monte, wlio was the first to leap upon the plaín free and 
unfettercd. Altacking the prostrate commissary he took 
from him his sword and firelock, by pointíng whJch at one 
and aiming at another, without ever discharging it, he clcared 
the fieid of all the warders, who fied no less frorn Pasamontc's 
firelock than from the shower of stones which the now 
libérate d galley-slaves poured on them. 

Sancho was very sad over this aifair, for he ligured to 
himself that those who had fled would give notice of the 
occurrencc to the Holy Brothcrhood, who, on the sounding 
of the alarm-bell, would sally out in pursuit of the delinquents i 
and he said so to h¡s master, and prayed him to depart at once 
im that place, and hide themselvcs in the mountain-ranges 

ic by. 

Thal is well, said Don Quixote ; but I know what ís 
now mect to be done, — And, calling to the galley-slaves, 
who werc now running about uproariously, having stripped 

■ An iniíancc of Ccrvanlo' cardointM, it tioñug beca uid ilovc tlut Üiere 
: twa wlüi fiíclocki. 

287 



Don Quixote 



the commissaiy to the skin, they ranged theniGclva zbout 
hím in a circle to hear what mighi be his comnutnds i and 
he addresscd them ihus : 

— To be grateful for the benefits which they rcccivc is 
the mark of pcreons well born ; and onc of the sins which 
mosi offends God is ingratitude. This I say, gcntlemen, 
as ye have seen, of pUin experiencc, the benefit ye havc 
receivcd of me ; in requital whereof I would desíre, and ít 
¡$ my plcasure that, laden with the chains which I toóle from 
off your nedcs, you witl immcdiately pul yourselvcs on the 
road and wend to the city of El Toboso, and there pre- 
sent yourselves beforc the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, and 
tell her that hcr Knight, he of the Rueful Feaiure, sends 
his aervice to her ; and ye shall recount, point by poínt, afl 
the details of this lamous adventure up to the conferring upon 
you of your coveted freedom ; and this done ye may go where 
ye will, and good fortune attend you. 

Ginés de Pasamente answered for all, and said : — That 
which your worship, our hberator, Sir, commands is of olí 
impossibilities tmpossibie for us to comply with, for we 
cannot go in a body along the roads, but singly and sepárate, 
and each on his own bottom, endeavouring to hide ourselves 
in the boweis of the earth lest we be discovered by the Holv 
Brotherhood, which, no doubi, will come oui in search of us. 
What your worship can do,^and it is right you ahould do, — 
is to exchange this suit and service' to the lady Dulcinea 
of El Toboso for a certain quantity of jfvf Mariúi and 
CrrdoSf which we will repeat on your worship's account ; 
and this is a thing which can be done by nighl and by day, 
flying or rcsting, in peace or in war ; but to ihink that we 
musí now go back to the flesh-pots of Egypt — I say, takc 
up our chain and set out on the road to El Toboso, is to 
imagine that it is night when it Is not ten o* tbe morning, 

' Sirvitit j mauí^, Moauagc ii.ÜttrtUj. tbe trihau m MI fMbfMl 
tnuter fin tbc paMagc oF há ihccp ihrough Hilen counlcy. 

288 




Don Ouixoté 

Piínil to ¡tsk h of US is lílce asking for pears of un elm 



— Thcn I swear by Heaven, críed Don Quixotc, now 
feiriy cnraged, — Don Son of a Whore,^ Don Ginesillo de 
Par^pillo, or whaiever they cali you, — ihat you shall go 
vourseif alone, your tail between your legs, with thc whole 
chain on your shoulders ! 

Pasamonie, who was nothing too patient, beíng now 
aware that Don Quixoie was not very sound in his wits, — 
since he had committed such a folly as to give them theír 
libcrcy, — findíng himself outraged in that manner, made a 
sign to his comradcs, antt, drawing aside, they began to dis- 
charge such a volley of stones upon Don Quíxote as that he 
could not manage to shelter himself with his buclder, and 
poor Rozinante made no more account of the spur than if 
he had becn made of brass. Sancho got behind his ass, and 
with that aid protccted himself against the doud and tcmpest 
hich rained upon them both. Don Quixotc was 
unablc to shicid himself so weli but that somc of the pebbles 
struck him on thc body with such forcé that they brought 
him to the ground ; and the moment he fcl) the student ran 
and took the hason off his head, and gave him with 
it three or four blows on the shoulders, and as many more 
Lon the ground, brealung it almost to pieces. They stripped 
lím of a mnic which he worc over his armour, and would 
have stripped him of h¡s stockings ¡f his greaves ^ had not 
prevcnted them. From Sancho they took his coat, leaving 
him in his shírt-sleeves ; then dividing among themselves 
thc rcst of thc spoils of the battlc, they fled each his own 



^T wii 

st 

h¡ 

(O 

M 






Pijir ftrmt al ¡Jmi — a ptovab. 

Th» nrcwtk uk tA Don befare wordt of rcproich ii 
of chivi!l7, lod, iniiecd, in all Spinüh literalurc. A 
viQif lie Liun, inil Kldmie* him » " Don Sindio C 
tÜm Fa¡B. Da CaLillirt Trt'ilir, etc„ ocxnt ñiquentlj. 

(he pul sf thc iciBour whích uvcrcd thc lowc 

289 



Don Ouixote 



way, — more concemcd to «cape from thc Brotherhood, 
whom they dreaded, than to load thenwelves with the chain 
and go to prcsent themselves to tbe lady Dulcinea oí El 
Toboso. 

Ail who remaincd behind wcre tbe ass and Rozinanie, 
Sancho and Don Quixotc ; the ass, with drooping head and 
pcnsivc, shaking his cars now and then 3S if he chought thc 
storm of stones which had molestcd them was noc yci ovcr ; 
Rozinance, who also had been brought to ground by a stonc, 
streicbed by tbe side of his master ; Sancho, nalced to hís 
shirt, and trembling for ícar of thc Holy Brotherhood ; Don 
Quixote, much out of humour at finding himself so i 
by the very mcn for whom he had done so much. 



iised í 



CHAPTER XXIII 



K^ ikai whfch happened ta tke famms Don ^¡xote ¡n ¡he 
Sierra Morena^ ■whicb was one of the rarest advcntures 
which are recounted in tbis truthjul history 

FlNDlNG himself in so evil a püght, Don Quixote said to 
his squire: — I have always heard it said, Sancho, that to do 
good to churU is to cast water into the sea.* If I had 
bcüeved whai thou saidst to me, I might have avoided this 
affliction ; but now it is done, patience ; and henceforth Íii 
the futurc let me lakc warning. 

- — Your lordship will as much take warning, answered 

I Sancho, as I am a Turk ; but since you say that if you had 
believed me you might have avoided this mischief, believe 
ne now, and you will avoid a stiil greater ; for let me teil you 
Aere is no trying chívahiea on the Holy Broiherhood, for 
it does not care two maravedís for all the Knighis Errant in 
1 The S<cm Monoa i* the noge of mouaCiini leparaling La Mucha fiara 
Andaluci». They are laid to be w called, not, as uied lo he popohrly tuppoiri!, 

Spln, bu[ ftoin Mom Maríaau, ibdr ondeat RooiaD aumc. For wme Iwa 
crntariu Úity formcd >□ cffi^ual tUDfttt for Mootíib Andalucia againil Ihc 
aiMulIi of Üie Kingl of Caadle, though it wal eaiier to pa» tbem (tam \ít 
□urth, lo which the dctUviiy ii Icm, than from ihe lonth, from which the aiKst 
il abmpt and utecp. In the (¡me of Ccrviatei, the Sierra Moiena wai tliE haunt 
uf all rcfitgc» (rom Spaniíh jiulke and ih( bvcoTÍte reiort of hiígaadi and 












Don Ouixote 




dkw nem ía Ufe or m 6eaA tkn ikik tdí so aay 
I hsve fctnated uw wiibonnni fron nñ itingrr ÜLuwgli 
fatf but u> bumour d^ tnx n a ú a i ibr if dton sa^ist a 
die Ukni wik be, and fron ooír yabl thrn aod &xmt I 
undl now^ J gire ilm üte Ge, and say tlnt Ukm Bgk . 
wiJt lie evcry time tbou ihak tbúik or sajr it.* And ans 
me Dot sgatn, Ibr at the but tbougbt tbat I am witbdnw 
and rctrcaling frotn sorac pcril, espcciaOy from dtá w) 
tcemí lo thow Mime gltmmcr* of a studonr oT danger» I 
¡nclincd to rcnuin hcrc and singly await not ooly tfae Hol] 
Broihcfhood of which thou ipcakcst and an afi^d, bnc thc 
Brcthrcn of the Tweive Tríbes of hrael, and tbc 
Maccabccs,* and Casior and PoHux, ayc, and all tl>c 
anJ bruthcrhoods thcrc are in the world. 




' Tlic tlolji BiDlhcrhiMil ul oid UKd to puniíh cñmiiuli 
Ifini lliiiin tn •likn na ihi rudiíde anij ihooting tlmn Ii 
Tha CuhaÜt JJuun lubtlU, aft Clemencia, otdcred thaC, befan láag d 
ikry ihouN b« larroUd, — a piect of clemcncy (or whidí CovimiHu gin thi 
CTfdlt lo hir gtindwn, Clurleí V. 

• 'I'ht (Iving of ihe llr in lfii< cUboraie lod enmplieíted fcmi ii cop'ed ilm«l 
lllmlly ftam • e»r[el of doHinc* Knt hy Tiruite the Whilr in omwa to ■ ruil 
Igllti from Don gulridcitnn at MonUlv.n [Timu, bk. i. ch. itvi.). 

' jtlfim ii^m H Mi mmira Ji miíJs, The more comrooo (ónn at* óa ma 
lorgninf in in(in|iblc quialllj, — tu Idlonutíc jihnir uicd by Qneinto, «Bil t^ 
Cnvuitn bimMlf elHwherc. 

• JUtniKu iq Üw «nt of Ih* Iwo Mídtid editloni of líos.—íitíiíd in ■! 
■iihMiiUEnl iinu, hy whd I cannat kvt tgtrt wiüi niiut ut the Spaniíii o 
lUori it ■ prinMr'i »iror, to Ma»akt. The «even M»«»t« brotlien inffimt 
niarlyídom, acMrdlnii tu ihcir buok in ihe Apocryphi, nther (han dtny iher 

_ hUlh I know of no olliec lown broüun. ilmply " youlhi " (miimiti). wham 

Don tjuiíol* couid mnn. Thr Bruiwlt cdHiua of 1607, and Ihe Lundon idilton 

2t)2 




Don Ouixote 



^-Sir, answered Sancho, to rctreat ¡s not to run away, ñor 
is ii prudence to stay where ihe danger outweighs ihe hope, 
3nd it is the part of w¡se men to keep themselves to-day fbr 
to-morrow, and not lo venture everything ¡n one day ; and 
Ict me lell you that though I be but a rustic and a down, 
still diere has come to me somethíng of what they cali good 
condiict. So do not repent of having taken my advice, but 
mount Rozinante ¡f you can, or if not I will help you, and 
follow me, for my wit telis me ihac wc have just now more 
nced of our feet than of our hands. 

Don Quixote mounted without repiying anothcr word, 
and Sancho on bis ass leading, they entered a part of the 
Sierra Morena which was cióse at hand, Sancho íntending to 
traversc ¡t through and come out hy Viso or at Almodóvar 
del Campo,' and hide themselves for some days among these 
lastnesses, so as not to be Ibiind should the Brotherhood look 
for them. He was encouraged in this through having secn 
that the provender whích he carríed on bis ass had eacaped 
safcly out of that scufflc with the galley-s laves, — a thing 
which he deemed a miracle, considering what they had 
carried off and bow closely they had searched. 

■'That night they rcached the very bowels of the Sierra 

b ibc concct reiding, thoogh oot 

á. Clemcncin oUervcs,— Don Quimte snd Sindio 
i( wtí» thty wcrt, — how Sincho could inlcnd tu truvcrn the ríngn and 
come out ¡t Vito or *t Alnuidónt ¡ ind g modcm tiuulitor nün ihe jame 
ififficully, BTj^g tbil ViM and Almodóvar m botb iu La Mincha. But, 
«(ording to the kincTsry of Don (Juiíole't KEond ully givni ii 
Mltion (liig). tfac ipot whcTE Dan Qoiiole ud Sancho now ore 
where neat the vilUge of Tortenueva, hetweeo ValdepeBaí i 
Thracc (o Vilo would be acroH i ipur of ihe Síem Moreni. u 
dtl Cjmpo e!¡rec( would be in a direclion due wctt, ilill hnbcr 
Why muit vre atiume tlut Sucho meant I 



the AcaFleiny*» 
ihould be aonie- 
nd Almnradiel. 



■ Hee b< 



II that funou 



DÍ i6oj;. the whi 
JO3 






Don Ouixote 



Morena, where to Sancho it scemed prudcnt to p 
nighl, and cvcn a fcw days, — at least as many as the stores 
they had witli them wouEd iast ; and so they rested for ihc 
nighl between the rocks and among a number of corlc-trecs. 
But latal destinv, wfaich, according to the upinion of ihosc 
who have not the light of the truc feiih, guides, directs, and 
disposes cverything íts own way, ardaincd tbat Gínés de 
Pasamonte, the tamous cheat and robber, whotn Don Quixotc 
by his valour and his folly had released from the chain, moved 

of Dapple, btginiung " Thal Dighl they reiclied Ihe <nry bgweii oí Ihe Síon 
MarcDi," dawD ta "A« lót ibc Rnight, whoi he cnUccd unong the Duuui- 
tiint " (pgc 196). H mnlíng. Il appcall fot ÜIE fint time in Cuota't Kcood 
Editioa of 1605 (wbich miuC hive beca pciotcil wittiiQ a Icir wtfki of llic finí). 
«nd Ll h» ippcBTMl ín cvery cdilíon unce, iodndijlg Üi>1 of 160^, — -which, 
■ccDnliDg to >U the bnt luthoritís, w» reviicd bf CervaDlet hícDidfi — aad ilut 
of liif, which uthe lAtt Htued by ihe Spvuih Roya] Audeiny, Señor Uartco^ 
buwh, howevír, by a charadcriitic (cal of liaríng, uka thii piuagt ODt allaiilliB 
from the proent chaptu aad ínterpolata it ínto chapter iiv„ ítcjtríag Ifaii 
Cervaala' tint inlcntioa wu lo have plaud ít thcre. Whal Covaala' ■* ñnt 
iDIcntion " Duy have btta, we h«ve no meaní of knowíng, but hf muii luvc bcea 
cven leu incMuful in canying oul bú ÍDIEBtiona, fim lad tecond, Ihm tiu bccn 
uiiullf luppoicd, if m are to betien the latat Eogliih ttaDlbtot of Dim ^ntr. 
Mt. Onniby aven that " the iiueited paMage ú clearly nal hii (Cervinle*'], u ii 
il aunptetely ígoorcd by bim" elaewrherei i*yiat tbat "whea the lecoad edttido 
wai in the pieaa, ao altempl wat made to temcdy [he ovenight " (oacoely, the 
not mentioalng how Saoeho^i an w» iloLenX "and the piintet^ ipparently 
frepfñ mtlUf lupplied thi» panigr." That Mr, Orizuby ihonld have beoome 
aojuainted vrith whal paned at the printiog oí the iciond edilion of Don ^«»a^ 
ii » wcmderful ai that Señor HarttEabiuch ihould have leamt of the "fint 
íntention " of Ceivantct. That thcre weii iotelUgent piintera in Mailríd in tfaoae 
dayt it at creiliUe ae that therc are inlelligent prinleti in Edinburgh in theac ; bul 
let ut lee all that Mr. Ormiby would have na believc. The lact thit Ihere iru 
■ Madrid printer, in 160;, who had lo futly ennnd into (he tpiHl a( Cavanle* 
ai to be able to lupply uf hit own motion Ih*l which, from that time to tfait, bM 
been eileemed ai one of the moit admirable >ad charaderiilic paiaagct in da 
fluían, — oamely, Sancha'i IimeDt fot Dapple, — ía wgnilerful ; but ihen ia tome- 
thing more wonderful ■lUl, vii. that while be wai aboul it he did not coimt 
mote of the blundcn in thíi ilory ¡ anil, moat wonderful of all, that the ori^ul 
■uthor, who by ihii Üieoty ahould be only ooe ufa number of humoriiCi ofcqoíl 
geniíu wtiiing a joinl Dui ¿iMimt, díd not nolice tbe mteipolatíoa of the 
ingenioui gifted príntet, when (peaking of thit vtry ouuei íd bí) Seccsid Pare 

294. 



í3 



Don Ouixote 



if the Holy Brotherhood, which wi'tl 
dreaded, had resolved to hidc himself in these t 
and his luck and bis fcar bore him to the same spot whithcr 
the same motives had carried Don QuixoCe aiid Sancho 
Panza, just in time to recognise them, and at the instant 
when they fdl asleep. Now as the wickcd are ever ungratc- 
ful, and necessity urges them to do what they should not, 
and present convenience overcomes the thought of the 
future, Ginés, who was neither gratefiíl ñor well-disposcd, 
resolved to rob Sancho Panza of his ass, not caring for Rozin- 
ante, as being a prize ill cíther to pawn or to se!l. Sancho 
Panza sícpt ; Gincs stole bis ass ; and bcfore the morning 
he was so lar off as to be past finding.^ 

Aurora carne fbrth, gladdening the earth, but bringing 
grief to Sancho Panza, for he missed his Dapple,^ and finding 
himself bereft of hím, he began to malee the saddest and most 
doleful bmcntation ever heard, antt it was such that Don 
QuixoCe awolce at his críes, and heard what he was sayíng : 
— -O child of my bowels ! born in my very home, the sport 
of my children, the delight of my wife, the cnvy of my 
neighbours, the sharer of my burdens, and beyond all, the 
support of half my person ! — ^for with six and twenty mara- 
vtdis which thou earnedst for me daily did I make half my 
living ! * 

) Thi aunan jn which the robbery of Dapplc wu cRccUd ii aot told tilt 
haeañcr in the Second Part. Thú letieenee leenu to me lo be vecy th»ricter. 

' Tbii ii ihe ünt IÍtoe thil the caloor of Sincho'i lei ii mcntioned. Dapfli 
it Dot quite the mcaning of rtuUi, but it hu becn lODiecratcil by unge, and ihe 
readei would, peih«p>, [oletite no other woíd. Sucia ii crplaíned in the 
Auileoiy'i grot dictiooii^ u lyaonyoioai wilh tvdi, which, ai applied (o 
hone), ii "■ apeckled black and while." Cervaatei cteaity meant by tuca i 
kiad of reililiah gniy. for ia deieriUng the beard the fiarber mide Tor himielf in 
ch, iivii.. hí tellí ui it wat it niu ceU rism i nja ¿t tuti. To MoCtíB< we are 
indebted for the fint inveaCion of Dtffit. 

* Thii i> 1 partion of tbe pua|e fot which wc are tuppoicil lo be inJebted lo 
>' primer. Evcn Clemencín Ufi it U "capable of wreaching linghlct 
rooíl latotnine and melancholy howni." ■' - 



Don Quixote 



Don Quixote, who saw hiin weeping and knew the caus^ 
consoled Sancho with the bcst argumenis he could fínd, 
prayed him to have patíence, and promised to give btm a 
bilí of exchange that they might dcliver to him three out of 
the five ass-foak he had aC home. Sancho was comfoncd by 
this, dried his tears, moderated his sobs, and thanked Don 
Quixore for the fávour he had done him.) As for the FCnJght, 
whcn he entered among the mouiitains, he fett glad of 
hcart, these pbces seeming to him very suitable for the 
adventurcs he sought. They recalled to his memory the 
marvellous events which ín similar solitudes and (astnesscs 
had happened t<i Knights Errant ; and he went brooding 
over these things, so absorbed and transportcd by them that 
he minded nothing else ; ñor had Sancho any othcr concern- 
(since it seemed to him they were travelling on a safe road) 
than to satisly his stomach with the relies of the clerical 
spoil i and so he joggcd on behind hís masier, loaded with 
all that his ass should have carricd,' empiying the bag and 
cramming his paunch, and while employed in this manner he 
would not have gíven a doÍt to find another adveniure. 

While thus occupied he raised his eyes and saw that his 
master had come to a stop, trying with the point of his 
lance to lift what seemed a bundle lying on the ground ; upon 

' Thit pauíge wai corrcctcd in thii Knx la ihc CilUian of i6oÍ. In tiic 
eJitioni of 16a;. Ccrvintti bad wrítlen : lia ¡raí a¡ «», ¡miaiia ú U naytritg» 
mbrt IB jammí, ele. — " Wítrd lidewijn on hit a« líke i wnmín," — TorgcHing 
itiit Dipplc hid bon rtolEn, Theie utie Kvea plicn in ill wlicrc [hit blnnilcr 
occumd. Cervantci corrcctcd two Dnly, — i proor oí hii cardeHoeu, bal 
icrtBÍDly no evídcocc thal the p*9Ugt duoibing the itciüng of ti» lU wu ost 
fau. Had the correctiir bren lome other Ihac ihe aulhor, he wouLd «urely )u^ 
correcleií all the erron. The foit iliat lomc «etc cofitcwd anil lome nol tscnit 
10 me concluiive, with vhat fbllowa wiih tthtma 10 ihii niitter in ihe Seconil 
Pirt, that no ather band «ai «t warlc on Üie tcil but thr hand of Cnvanlo 
Doly. The editíao of Bruucli, 1607, — in which ihere » 

paiuge Diikei Roiinanle larr; ihe bag of vicluib ia 'lefaotl of Dapple);' 
ii tbc venion adaf teJ by Shdton. 

296 



Don Ouixote 



le hastenec! to come to hís assístancc if it might be 
necded ; and he carne up just al the moment when his 
master had raised with the point of hís lance a saddle-cushion 
and a valise ñstened to it, half rotten, or rather rotten entírdy 
and tálling to píeces ; but they were so heavy that Sancho 
had to dismount' to lake them up. His master ordered him 
to see what was in the valise. Sancho did so with much 
alacrity ; and although the valise was faslcncd with a chain 
and a padlock, ihrough the rents and the rottenness he saw 
what was in Ít,^to wit, four shirts of fine cambric and other 
articlea of linen no less curious than deiicaie, and ¡n a handker- 
chicf he found a goodlj' little pile of gold crowns, and when 
he saw them he cried : — Blesscd be the whote heaven which 
hath prescnted us with one adventure good for something ! 
— And searching fiirther, he found a little memorandum- 
boolc richly decoraied. Don Quixote asked him for this, 
but bade him keep the money, and take it for himself. 
Sancho kissed his master's hands for the favour, and rifling 
the valise of the Unen he thrust it into their provisión bag. 

Noting all this, Don Quixote saíd :^lt seems to rae, 
Sancho, ñor can it possibly be otherwise, that some lost 
iraveller must have passed by this mountain, and being way- 
laid by bandits they have siain him and brought him here to 
bury him in this remote spot. 

—That cannot be, answcred Sancho, for if they had been 
thieves they would not have left this money here. 

— Thou sayest true, said Don Quixote, and therefore I 
cannot divine ñor guess what this can be. But stay ; we 
will see whcther in this pocltet-book thcrc is anything 
wricten by whích we may trace out and discover what we 
dcsirc to know. 

He ihcn opencd it, and the first thing he found iherein, 
TÍtten roughly yct in a very fáir character, was a sonnct, 

I Oni of Iht KVHi biundert, left uncoticcted. 



Don Quixote 



and reading it aloud so that Sancho aUo mighi hcar, 1 
thac it ran in I ' 



SONNET 

When 1 was markcd co suffcr, Love rorswore 
All Icnowicdge of my doom ¡ or clsc 
Love grows a cruc! imnt, hard (o picase ; J 

Or eUe a chastisemeni cxcccding sorc 

A liitle sin haih brought me ! Hush ! no more ! 
Love is a god ; all things he tnows and sees. 
And gods are good and mild ! Who ihcn decrces 

The woc I groan bcneath, and yet adore ? 

If I should say, O Chloe ! ihat 'tis thou 

I should spcak faUely, sínce, beiog wholly good 
Like Heaven ¡iself, Trom thee no íU may come. 

All hope is past ; I musí die shonly noiv, 

Not knowing why, since sure no wretch hath brew 
The drug that tnighi avctt my maíiyrdom.» 

— By this verse, quoth Sancho, nothing is to 
unless by that cluc ^ which is therc we get to thc 
thc whole. 

— What clue is therc here ? said Don Qtüxote. 

— Methought, said Sancho, that youT worship mcnttoned 
í cluí there. 

— I did not say due but CA/oí, responded Don Quixote ; 

' I *m iadebted to my ñ-IcDil. Mr. Edmojid Goue, lor tliii granful venían 
of a iDoaet not intüreitiag in iUclf for much eUe Chan thii, that Ccmnta 
thoaghc it wortby of bsag rcpealeil io one of bii comedie), TAc Haut ofjttlaiq. 
Thc ñame Fili In thc oiiginil hai bcen iltcred to Chloc (in icoirdana witli a 
bappy idea of Jarvii-|) for Ihe ulu of what foUowi from Sancfao. 

' Per ta lab fU ara aU k ujk í¿ tvillt, Sancho, rithcr ignonnily oí 
wiUully, miitika thc namc Fili, which accun in the teit of tbe «Huict, for 
Aitc (ancicDtl)' j!/o), which tBggetti lo him ihc provcrb—^ 1/ iUt ir ucm iJ rvlíii. 
" by the clue ts diicovErcd thc tbrtail," QKit befare ín ch. iv. J»vtt, (o IcMp 
up Üie play of wordi, ingeniouely luhitiluted Chloe fot Fiii in (be venc^ which. 
foUowiag thc cumple of >U truulaton unce, t haie idopteii. 
298 



13 



Don Ouixote 



bis, no doubt, ¡s the ñame of the Wy of whom the 
author of thís sonnet complains ; and in faith he must be 
a reasonably good poet, or I know littic of the art. 

— Why theii, said Sancho, belilce your worship under- 
inds the makíng of verses too. 
—And better than thou imaginest, answered Don 
FQuixote, as thou shait see when thou bearest a letter 
written in verse from top to bottom to my lady Dulcinea 
del Toboso > for I would have thee know, Sancho, that ali 
or most of the Kníghts Errant 'of the past age were great 
troutxtdours and great musicians,' for these two accomplish- 
mcnts, or graces as I should rather term them, are attributes 
of lovers-errant ; though it is truc that the verses of the 
Kníghts of the past had in them more spirit than clegance. , 

— Read on, your- worship, said Sancho, for we may yet 
find something to satísfy us. 

Don Quísote turned over the leaf and said: — This ¡s 
prose, and looks like A letter. 

— A letter for the post,'' Sir ? askcd Sancho. 
^L — From its cotnmencement it appears rather to be a 
Bdvc-letter, answered Don Quixote. 



flay the harpj ind did u much eienition with il on Emprcxci tné Princnm 
u with thcir lincei and iwotdi on caitiS' knigfati, Id the (ecoad btwk of 
Atnadií í> quoHd i vcry pretty lillle balUd, compoiol by ibil hera for tile 
lilllc diughtct of King Lisuarte, bcgiaDiag : — 



cnmcac or fomul deed, whidí ilao 



Don Ouixote 



— Thcn read it aloud, your worship, said Sancfao, fi 
delight grcatiy in thosc love matters. 

— I shall be plcased co do so, said Don Quíxocc, and 
reading; it aloud as Sancho had requested, he found that it 
ran thus ; — 

Thy fahe plfdge and my certain reai núsfartuHt dr'wt nu 
le a flact ivhrnce the news of my dtalh w'tU soaner rtafh M 
ihint ears than the words af my complaÍnÍng. Thsu hail 
renounced mf, O ingrale, for o»e who pesiestts mere, tul mi 
onf viho is ivorthier than i. Bul íf vtrlue wire to he valued 
¡He ivealth, I ihould neitker envy the happinea of othrrs, nsr 
iament my ovjn misfortune. 'JTiai which ihy beauty raised up, 
thy dceds havt mjerthrawn ; by the ene / theugkt ihee an 
auge!; hy the olkers 1 inow thee a ivoman. Rest in peaee^ 

hegetter of my tuar; and may Htaven grant that tht 
dtctil of thy husband be eutr undiscavtred, that thou mayest 
not repenl of wkal thou didst, ner I lait the vengeanee whUh 

1 cavet not} 

Having finished reading the letter, Don Quixote said ; 
^We can gather less by this than by the verses as lo who 
is he that wrote them, except that he is somc rejected lover. 
— And turning over nearly all the leaves of the little book, 
he found other verses and letters, of which some he could 
rcad and others not ; but thcy all contained repinings^ 
laments, misgivings, desires and hates, fávours and dísdains, 
— some extoiled, and some deplored. 

Whilst Don Quixote was examining the book, Sancho 
examined the valise wichout leaving a córner of it, or of 
the saddle-cushion, which he did not search, spy into, and 
explore — not a seam which he did not ríp open, ñor a luíi 
of wool which he did not pick, that nothing migbt be left 
through lack of pains or care : such was the grecd awakencd 






D tiiíl «ge. ¡I 




í3 



Don Ouixote 



ín him by the crowns he had found, which were more than 
a hundred. And though he found no more than he did at 
first, yet he reckoned well - ¡nvestcd the tossings in the 
blanVet, the vomiting of the balsam, the benedictions of 
the pack-stavcs, the fisticuffs of the carrier, the loss of the 
wallets, the robbery of his coat, and all the huiiger, thirst, 
and íatigue which he had suffered in the service of his 
worthy master, considering himself more than rcpaid for 
ali by the blessing received from the t reas u re-trove. 

The Knight of the Rueful Feature was possessed with a 
great desire to learn who the owner of the valisc might be, 
conjecturing by the sonnet and the lettcr, by the money 
in gold, and by the finencss of the shirts, that it must be 
some lovcr of condition, whom the disdain and cruelty of 
his lady had brought to some desperare course. But as in 
that rude and desoíate place thcre was likely to be no one 
who could inform him, he troubled himself about nothing 
but to pass on, taking no other road than such as Rozinante 
might choose, which was the one easiest for him, imaginíng 
all the while there would not lail him in that wilderness 
some strange adventure. Riding on with this idea, he saw 
on tile top of a little i¡j>g\\ which rose before his eyes, a 
man who went leaping from crag to crag and from bush 
to bush with marvellous agility. He made him out to be 
half naked, with a black and matled beard, his hair iong 
lad tangled, his feet unshod, and his legs bare ; his thíghs 
were covered with breeches, to all appearance of tawny 
velvel, but so torn to rags that his skin showed ín many 
places. His bead, too, was bare ¡ and, although he ran by 
as swiftly as has been described, all tbese details did the 
ICnighi of the Rucful Feature observe and mark, But 
with all his endeavour he was unable to follow him, for ii 
was not granted to Rozinante's strength to travel over 
ough places, he being, moreover, by naturc, slow- 
iiid sluggish. Don Quixote carne prcsently to the 
301 



Don Quixote 



conclusión that thU was the owncr o( cfae cttUtion and the 
valtsc, and be resolved to ^ in quest of him, cvcn tboagh 
be &hould have lo spend a wholc ycar in ihcsc mouocaim 
till he found him. So be ordscd Sancho to dismount from 
tus ast' and to take a short cut across ooe síde of tbc 
I Biountain, vhile he would go by the otber ; and, perbapa, 
\hy tbb devjcc tbey might come up witb that man «rbo 
Itad lled 3W3y from ihem so hastily. 

- -Thai I «)u]d not do, replicd Sancho, for, when I pan 
frotn your worship, fear íc'izes me at once and assitli rae 
wilh a thoiuand Icinds of terrars and visions ; and let thís, 
I tay, acrve you for a waming ihat from hcncefbrtb I do 
noi iiir a fingcr"» breadtb from your prcsence. 

— It «hall be so, saíd he of the Rueful Fcaturc, and 
ríght glad am I tltat thou shouldst vñih to avail thce of my 
courage, which shalt not t^il thee even thougb the veiy 
soul in tby body fajl thee ; and come thee now behind fne 
leiaurcly as wcil as ihou canst, and make lantern» of thinc 
cycs i we will go round this litttc hül ; pcrhaps vre m^ 
come upon ihc man whom we saw, who ís, without dotibt, 
no nther ihan ihc owncr of what we have fbund. 

To which Sancho rcplied : — It were beftcr not to seck 
him, for if we find httn, and he might perchance tura out 
to be the owncr of the moncy, it ís plain I have to rctum 
it ; and so it would be beitcr, without taJting this useless 
Iroiible, to Icccp it ñithfully until by somc other way, tess 
mcddlexome and officíous, its rcali'owner should tnrn np, 
and pcrhnps that will be when I have speni it, and tfacn 
the King will hold me harmless. 

— In that thuu art mistaken, Sancho, responded Don 
Quixotc, for now that we liave a suspicion of who che 
owner is, and have him aimost beforc our eye>, WC are 
bound to seelc him and rcstorc these to him i and should 

' Anoihci paiHitc wlirn Ccrvvita forgct) thu Suiche hiM Itce robM oT 
bli iM, iDd omld lo nukc liic 




Don Ouixote 



: go in search o( hím, the strong presumption we 
havc as to hís being ihe owner malees us as guilty as if 
lie were reaily the man. So that, Sancho, frieiid, Ict noi 
ihis quest give thee pain, seeing of what ¡t will relieve me 
if I find him, 

Saying this he spurred Rozinante, and Sancho Tollovcd 
on foot and loaded, thanks to Ginesilio de Pasamonte.' 
Having made the ascent of part of the mountaín, they found 
in a little stream, lying dead, half caten by doga and picked 
by crows, a mulé saddied and bridled ; all which conlirmed 
in them the suspicíon that he who Aed was the owner of the 
mulé and the cushíon. 

As they stood gazing at it, they heaid a whistle like that \ j 
of 3 shephcrd walching hts flock, and suddenly ihere appeared 
on their left a great number of goats, and behind them on 

the top of the mountaín the goatherd in charge, who was an 

^Kold man. Don QuJxote callcd to him and beggcd him to 

^^Bome down to where they stood. He replied by shouling 

^^Eut and asking who bad brought them there by that place 

^^peldom or never trodden except by the feet of goats or of 

^Bwolvcs and other wild beasis whích prowled araund. Sancho 

^Plvsponded that if he would come down they would explain 

cverything. The goatherd descended, and, coming up to 

whcre Don Quixote stood, he said : — I will wager that yon 

are looking at the mule-hack which lies dead in that bollow ; 

I' faith it is six months that he has been lyíng in that spot ; 
lH me, have you fallen ¡n with bis master about here ? 
i —We have fallen in with nobody, answered Don Quixote, 
tor aught but a saddie-cushion and a small valíse which we 
bund not far from here. 
' — I found it too, said the goatherd, but never cared to 
¡ft it or come near it, fearing some mischief, and lest they 
might accuse me of theft j for the dcvü is crafty, and under 
' Here wc havc Ihe blunder conetUi, which a tctr Unti aban had pmed 



303 



Don Quixote 



a Run's fcet there siarts up tomething which nokcs bim tríp 
and táll, without lutowÍDg how or why. 

— TIut's tbc vcry thiag 1 say, aiu-wcred Sancho, fbr I abto 
found ii, and would not come within a stone'í thiow of it : 
therc 1 leít it, and there ít reoiains as ít iras, for I waüt 
neva a dog with a bcll.' 

— TcU roe, good nun, ¡aíá Don Quixote, do jrou know 
who b the owncr of thesv anieles ? 

— What I can tell yo» is, said the goatherd, that it «ríQ 
be now six montbs ago, more or less, there atrived at a certain 
shcpherd's hut, which would be about three Icagucs frota thü 
spot, a youth of gentcel figure and beating, riding upon that 
same mulé which lies there dead, and with the íamc saddle- 
cushion and valise which ye say that ye found and did not 
touch. He cnquired oí us what part o( this rangc was the 
roughest and most prívate i we told hím ít was where we 
are now standing ; and truly it is so, for if you go on ha]f 
a league fárther perfaaps you would not Bnd your way out 
again, and I am wondering how you were able to reach 
bere, for there is neither road ñor path wliich makes lo this 
place. Well, I say, on hearing our answcr, the young man 
turned rein and iravclled lowards che place wc poinied out, 
leaving us all pleased with his good loóles, and wondering at 
hís request and at ihe specd with which we saw híro trivel 
and malee towards the ranges. Sínce then we have nevcr 
s£en him, uncu a few days ago he appearcd on the path to 
onc of our shepherds, and, without saying a word, he carne 
up to him and gave hím several blows and ticks, and then 
weni after the ass which carríed our victuals, and took a]) 
the bread and cheese there was ; and this done, with won- 
derful nimblcness he fled back again Ínto the mountains, 

' Na füim frna am laarm, — a proverb, mcanmg "I ito not «te fot ■ 
(kín^ which bríngt wHfa It iny Croabre/'-^uLulJy niH, iceordEag to CoY i irr tt hi w ; 
of ( icrvinl who briaga witb bim t wife, or childita. mi Btlier finaa lo make 
■ noÍK aad dútuib ifac houichold. 

3<H 




on Ouixote 



lo r 



learnt this, some of our hcrdsmen went in search 
of him for nearly two days ¡n thc thickest part of the ranges, 
at the end of which we found h¡m lurkíng in the hole of a 
big, stout cork-tree. He carne out to us very meekly, his 
clothes lorn and hls face disfigured and baked by the sun, in 
such manner that we hardly knew him, exccpt that the 
clothes, though torn, convinced us by the rccoLection we 
had of them that he was the man we sought. He saluted us 
courteously, and in a few and very civil words told us not to 
be surprised at seeíng him wandering about in that state ; 
fbr so ii behoved him to do to work out a certain penance 
'hich, for his many sins, had been laid upon him. We 
him to te!l us who he was, but we could never get 
at that. We begged him, too, when he had need of food, 
without which he could not livc, to tell us where we 
should find him, for we would bring ít lo him wíth all good- 
will and heed ; or that, if this should not be lo his hking, 
leastwise he shouM come and ask for ii and not take ít 1^ 
forcé from the shepherds. He thanked us for our ofFcr, 
bcggcd pardon for the past assaults, and engageU for the 
future to ask it for God's love, without doing violence to 
anybody. Touching the place of his abode, he said that he 
had none other than that which chance offered when night 
overtook him ; and he ended his spcech with such a tender 
weeping, that we who listened to him might well havc been 
ofstone if therein we had not kept him company, consider- 
ing what we had seen him to be the first time, and what 
we saw him ihen ; for, as I have said, he was a very genteel 
and graccfiil youth, and in his courtesies and crderly spcech 
showcd himself to be well born and a very court-like person. 
For though we who listened to him were country folk, his 
good manncrs were such as to make him known even to our 
simpleness- And in the midst of his talk he stopt and 
became mute, naiting bis cycs to the earth for a good while, 
ing which we all stood sílent and still, vraitíng to see where 
VOL. I 305 ao 




Don Quixote 



yrif , BpriuBg hn cyn, r^nami^ kxgb sbiiag xt tac 
flOHDSy vilnout lof 9 I0B£ tssc niOTing m cycov^ ■ 
tJkia riwTtíffg' tk■^ *ff,h'"ñt ¿ hit Kp^aoil wcbíng lúq 
brmn, we tmOf gmtmeé ifasf aomc fit of ■*"*«— faad ca 
opon Iñn. Bvt ne kxib let ib kmw ttiat tbc tretb wat 
we tbouglii, fbr be me ia gnx ítrf from tbc groand 
be had thrown bimtclf and « ofna tbe fint be feunJ near 
htm wiih lucb paañoa and nge ünt, if wc h>d not takeo 
him off, he wouJd haré killed him witfa Ucnn and hiles, and 
aü ihii be did, oying out : — Ah, treacbcrous Femando 
hcre, bcre ilnlt tbou par fer tbe wrong ibou hast done me 1 
thcK hands shaD pluck out tbc bean in which are harboured 
and are todgcd t<^ctbcr all tbc wickcdncsses, cspcdallr ñatid 
and deceit !~-and to these be addcd otfacr worcb sQ going lo 
tbc abuse o( thai Fernando^ aod aarking him for tiaitor and 
pcrjurer. WcU, we tixtk off" our fellow &om him witb no 
little trauble, and he, witbout saying another word, deponed 
frotn tu and hid hiniKjf, running ofF among the briars and 
bramblct, *o that he matlc it impossiUe for os to follow btm. 
Üy thi> wc gather that his madness comes upon him at 
limes, and that «omc one whom he called Fernando must 
havc done him tome ill woric as grievous as thc 
which he Íi hfought tccms to show, all of which has beea 
verilíed »ince then by the numbcr of times, which have 
many, that he has come out into the path, somctimcs to b^ 
of thc ihcphcrds to give him someihing to cat, and othcr 
tima lo rnke it fnim ihem by forcé ; fm when he is in ibis 
ñt of mnilncH, aJlhoiigh che shephcrds ofTcr ii lo hím freely, 
he (loes not acccpt ii, but rathcr snatches ii with blowa 
and, wlicn he ¡s in his senses, he usks it for GodN love 
courtcoutly and civilly, anJ givcs irany thanks, and not 
without tcars. And to tcll you ihe truth, Sirs, proccedcd 
the goatlicrd, ycstcrday wc agrced, I and fou'r herds, — two 
of iiur ladi and two fricndü of mine, — to ücarch for him untÜ 
306 



SHAP.ij Don Quixote 



ve found him, and when we had found him, to carry him 
wiify nilly to the town of Almodóvar, which is eight leagucs 
from hcre,' and there we will have him cured — if his maUdy 
be curable — or we wiU learn who he is when in his senses, 
and wíiether he has rclatives to whom we may give notice 
of his misrortunc. This is, Sirs, all I can tell you of what ye 
have asked me ; and be sure that the owner of the articles 
which ye found is the same whom ye saw pass so naked and 
nimbie. 

Don Quixote had aheady told him that he had seen that 
man leaping among the rocics. 

The Knight stood amazed at what he had heard from 
the goatherd, and, with a greater desire than ever to learn 
who the unhappy madman was, he resolved within himself 
to carry out what he had already designed, — to search for 
him ihrough all the mountains, without leaving cavern or 
córner therein unexptored, til! he had found him. Bui 
chance ordered ¡t better than he expected or hoped, for in 
that same instant there appeared ihrough a gorgc of the 
mountain, which opened towards where they stood, the 
youth he sought, who carne muttering to himself words 
which could not be understood near, much less at a distance. 
His apparel was such as has been describcd, only that, as he 
drcw closer, Don Quixote saw that the tattered jerkin which 
he wore was scented with amber,' whencc he concluded that 



n of ihe locality of ti 



dirmtni, which flow 



' Here wc have a pHCÍM india 
Don C'""'» nml idventun ; mmely, ibout Iwtnly-four milcj rii 
Almoiiávar del Cuntía, on (he waCerihed of (he Siem Moreni, 
louna of ibc ríve» Guidilc 
(he GD>da1t)DÍnr, 

caliíd now, but «mbergrii, (he proiluit of the ipetmitetí whale, of which (he 
jierfume wai very híjhly nliied in the ige of Cervaoles. The people of fuhion 
in ihe liM yean of ihe lUlecnlh («ocury lued to hive (hcir clo(hei, glovn, etc., 
icealcd with itiiba i tnA io Eogliad «ven wine wu lo tiuted, ii appeira from 
1 hu been taken lo (he .roell of 



^^ua^ in Bnumoal and Flelcher. Objectii 
■ a bfinK pcitrptible in the Tatteted One ■ 



Don Ouixote 



one who wore such g^ments could not be of veiy low 
quality. On coming up to them the youth saluted ihem L 
a voice hartl and unmusical, bul with mucJi courcesv. Don 
Quixote returned his grectings with no Icss politeness, and, 
alightíng from Rozinante with a gracíous míen and a pleasing 
air, advanced to embrace him, and held him for some lime 
clasped lightly ¡n his arms, as though he had known hím 
2 long time. The other, whom wc might cali the Tattered 
One of the Sorry Fcature,' as Don Quixote him of the 
Ruefiíl, after having suffered htmself to be embiaced, drew 
baclc a little, and, placing his hands on Don Quixote'í 
sboulders, stood gazing aC him, as if desirous to cali to mind 
whether he Icnew him, being no less astoniehed pcrhaps 
see the countenance, figure, and armour of Don Quixote 
than Don Quixote was to see him, In the end, the ftrst 
to speak after the cmbracíng was the Tattcrcd One, and he 
said — what shall be told farther on. 



ing, Aad, inilfcil, ilmoit pn-nianent. 
ivcjífurj titcd to dfnole nol only tbe 
> o¡ ihc Tiltcred One 



308 



CHAPTER XXIV 

¡Vherei» is eontained tht adventure of the Sierra Murena 

L history relates ihat Don Quixote listened with very 
: attention to the íll-starredi Knight of the Ranges, 
who bcgan his discourse thus, saying : 

— Assuredly, Sir, whoever you may be, for I Icnow you 
not, I am grateful to you for the marks of kindness and 
courtesy you have shown me, and I would that I were ín 
a position to repay you with something more tban good-will 
for the kind reccption you have given me ; but my fate will 
not allow me anything eise with which to respond to the 
good Services you have done me.''*«."— 

— The desire I have, anawcrcd Don Quixote, is to serve 
you i so mucfa so, that I had determined not to quit these 
ranges until 1 had found you and learnt from you whetheri 
there can be discovered any kind of reÜef for the affliction' 
under which your strange way of lifc shows you to be 
labouring ; and to search for it, if it were necessary, with 
ali possible pains. And ¡n case your misfortune be one of 
thosc which shut the door against every sort of consolation, 
I iniended to bcar a part in your lamentación, and to wecp 
with you as far as 1 could, for it is still a comfort in sorrows 
to ñnd one who will grieve for them. And if my good 
intent should deserve to be acknowledged by any kind of 
courtesy, I cntrcat you, Sir, by all that I perccive to be 

e— (bt dm.imdir-'i-a thii mat,m% of " i!l-<t>nc<[." it now ob»Jclc. 



Don Ouixote 



contatncd in yon, and at the same dme conjure you hy 
wtiatever in this Ufe you havc loved or love best, K> teU me 
who you are, and ibe cause whích has broughl j-ou to lire 
and to die in these solitudes lilce a brutc beasi, durelling in 
their midst in a manner so alien to one such as Tour garh 
and your per»on denote yoursclf lo be. And I swear, — Don 
Quixoie addcd, — by the ordcr oF Knightbood whicb I, 
ihough unworthy and a sinncr, havc receivcd, and by tay 
function of Kníght Errant, should you, Sir, gratify me ¡a 
ihis, lo serve you with all the good earnesi such as my 
catling dcmands of me cithcr in relicving your misfonune, if 
relief ít admits, or ín assisting you in your dolé, as 1 havc 
promised you. 

The Knight of the Wood, whcn he hcard faim of Üie 
Rueful Fcaturc speak in this style, did nothing but san « 
him — gazing at h¡m again and again, frotn head to foot, — 
and after he had cxamincd hitn closeiy, he said : 

— If you havc anything to givc me to eat, for the love of 
God give it to me, and after I havc eaien I wiil do all cbat 
is askcd of me ¡n acknowledgment of the k¡nd offcrs you 
ha ve now made me. 

Sancho thcn toóle out from his bag, and the goatherd 
from his pouch, what satisficd the Tattercd Onc's hunger, 
— he devouring what thcy gave him lilce one half-witted, so 
hurriedly, ihat he allowed no interval between one mouthfiíl 
and anothcr, rather gorging than feeding ; and while he ate 
neither he ñor they who looked on spoke a word. Whcn be 
had done eating he made signs lo them to follow him, whích 
thcy did, and he brought thcm round a rock to a litile grecn 
plot which lay a short way off, Arrivíng thcre he Jaid 
himsclf down upon the grass, the othcn doing the same, aQ 
wiihout spcaking a word, until the Tattered One, after he 
had sctticd hímsclf in a scaí, bcgan as follows : , 

^If it is your pleasure, Sírs, that I should recount to you 

in brief words the long sioiy of my mishaps, you must promise 

310 



Don Ouixote 






will not interrupt ibe thread of my sad tale with 
any question or other word, fbr at the instant you do so 1 
wiil stop telling it. 

These words of the Tattered One brought to Don 
Quixote's mind the story which hís squíre had told him, 
when he missed keeping count of the goats which had 
crossed the ríver and the story remained unfínished. But 
to the Tattered One. He went on to say ; — 

'his warning I give you, for I would pass over briefly the 
tale of my mísfortunes, for the bringing them up to memory 
seems but to add others afresh, and the less I am questioned 
the sooncr I will have done telling them, yct shall I not leave 
juitold anything of importance to satisfy fully your curiosity. 
^ Don Quixote promised ¡n the ñame of them all, and upon 
BÍb assurance the Tattered One began as follows : 
r — My ñame ¡s Cárdenlo ; ^ the place of my birth a cíty, 
onc of the best in Andalucía j my fámily noble ; my parents 
rich ; my misfortune so great as to be deplored by my 
parents and grieved over by my famiiy without their wealth 
being able to alleviate it, for the gifts of fortune can do but 
liitle to remedy the evils sent by heaven. In this same land 
there dwcit a heaven where Love had set^ all the glory 1 
could covet i such is the beauty of Lucinda, a maid as noble 
and as rich as I, but of greater good fortune, and Icss of 
constancy iban was due to so honest a love as mine. This 

lUcinda I lovcd, cherished, and adored from my earüest and 
years, and she loved me with a!l the innocence anJ 
lestness of hcr youih. Our parents knew of our inclina- 
tions, and were not sorry to Icarn them, fbr they saw clearly 

' The Dime of CarHínio wu prohably •uggated by tíwt of ibí place neat 
which [hit iilvenlun muil have ocCBfRd. — the latina ¿i Cjrdcui, aow i tlilion 
nn the miin line of nilwiy betwten \fidti>l (nil Cordoii, jutt al ihe cntnnce of 
ihe faiooui Hfñle with the itringí: nime. Deiftñaftrrai {Fliag-oier-ilogt). 

' Cirdenio ipukt in (he ttadied «iphulilic tiyit, the cn/tísm thec comiag inlo 
^Alihioo — dropping qdw tría theo tata the limpler and more mergetic lan^age of 
II hr beioinn «iciMd vllh hii own itory. 

3" 



consí 



Don Ouixote 



ihai as úiey advanced they could have no other cnd úiaa in 
our marriage, a thing which thc quality of our blood and 
fortune díd seem aJmost to arrangc. We grcw in years, uid 
with them grew our mutual love, so ihal Lucinda's fkther 
féit bound, out of rcgard for prudencc, to deny me adroissjon 
to his house, in this closcly imitating the parcnts of ThUbe^ 
to be-sung by the poets ; and ihis dcnial added flame to flainc 
and love to tovc, for though thcy enforced sitenoc on our 
tongues they could not impose it on our pens, whích are 
wont to reveal more frecly ihan tongues the heart's sccrct ; 
for oft-times the presence of the beloved object disturbs and 
renden mute the most dctermincd will and the boldcst 
tongue. Ah, hcavens ! how many were the lettcre I wrote 
to hcr, and how many choice, modest replies did I rcccive f 
How many dícties díd I composc, and how many songs of 
love, in which my soul dedared and rcvealed its fcelings, 
painted its glowing desires, daltied with its memoríes, and 
rcfreshed its passion ! Ai length, finding me over-spent 
and my heart consumed with the longing to behold her, I 
resolved to pul into effect and carry out what seemed to me 
the most likcly way of achleving my covcted and dcservcd 
reward, which was to aslc her of her father for my lawful 
wife. This I did i and he answered that he thaiikcd me for 
the desire I showed to honour him and to scelc to honour 
myself with bis loved treasure ; but that my father being 
ahvc it was by strict right his busincss to malee that demand, 
for unless it were wíth his Full will and pleasurc Lucinda 
was no woman to be talcen or given by stealih. 1 ihanked 
him for his good disposiiion, fcehng that thcre was rcason ín 
wbat he said, and believing that my fathcr would consent as 
Koon 3s I spoke to him of it ; and with this intcntion I wcnt 
on that same instant to tcU my fathcr of what I desired. 
When I cntered thc room wherc he was, I fo'jnd him with 
an open letier Jn his hand, which before I spoke a word he 
gave me, sayíng : — By this lettcr thou wilt sce, Cardenio, 



Don Ouixote 






hlch the Duke Ricardo has lo do ihee a favour. 
— This Ricardo, you must Itnow, genilemen, is a Grandes 
oí Spain, who has his estáte in the best part pf thís Andalucía. 
— I took the ietter and read it, and il was'so very kind that 
evcn to me it seemed wrong that my feíher should íáil to 
comply with what it required oF him, which was to send me 
immediately to the Duke, as he wanted me as a companion 
(noi as a servant) for his etdest son, and he would charge 
himseif with the placíng me in a position corresponding 
with the esteem in which he hcld me. I read the Ietter, 
and in reading was struck dumb, the more wfaen I heard my 
fathcr say i — Two days henee, Cardenio, thou wüt depait, 
to do what the Duke wishes, and give thanks to God íór 
opening to ihee a road by which thou mayest reach what I 
know thou dost desire ; — and to thesc he added words of 
fatherly counscl. The time for my departure arrived ; I 
spoke one night with Lucinda ; I told her all that had passed 
and the same I did to her father, entreating him to wait 
some whiie and defer giving her away until I saw what 
Ricardo wanted of me. He gave me his promise, and shc 
confirmed it with a thousand vows and as many fainting-fits. 
Finally, I arrived at the Duke Ricardo's. By him 1 was so 
,well received and treated ihat soon envy began to do its 
ofHcc, the oíd servants bcing seized with it, and regarding 
the tokens which the Duke gave me of his favour as some- 
thing to their injury. But the one who was most pleased 
with my coming was the Duke's second son, named Fernando, 
a gatlant youth, of noble, free, and amorous disposition, who , 
very ahort time had me for so great a friend as to tnaké / 
rcsi talk of it ; and although the eider liked me well and 
kind to me, he carne not near that extreme degrec to 
which Don Fernando loved and used me, It happened then 
that as between friends there is no secret but which is in 
common, and the intimacy I had with Don Fernando had 
quickly grown into friendship, he rcvealed to me al) his 
V3 



Don Ouixote 



l'lboughti, and especiaÜy a love affair which caused him icñfr 
I linlc tnximy. He lovcd dearly thc daughter of a lanncr, his 
li Alilcr'a icna/it ; hcr own parents bcing very ricli, and ahe so 
itieauiifu],mcKl&it,discrcet,and vjrtuous thatnooncwboknev 
lifeer cuuid decide in which of thcsequalíiicashe was iDost highlr 
gjfted w mo»t cxcdled. Thc charms of thc lovcly hzma's 
daughter w enihrallcd ihe hcart of Don Femando thit be 
dctcrmincd, in order to achieve his objcct and overeóme ber 
virtue, to plcdge hís word to hcr üiai he would Kpousc her, 
for to aiicmpí it by any oihcr means was to anempt tbc 
impo8>ib)c. Bound to him as I was by fricndship I tricd, 
by thc bcaí arg;unients I kiicw of and che strongesc wam- 
ing* 1 CQuId u«c, to dissuadc and turn him from such a 
purpotc ; hit ttnding that I could not prevai! with him, 
I resolved to lell thc Duke Ricardo, his fcither, of the aSair. 
Bul Don temando, bcing shrcwd and astute, suspccted and 
apprchcnded this, knowing that by my obligation as a good 
tervant I was bound not to keep secret a maiter which was 
flo much to thc prcjudíce of my lord the Duke's honour; 
and thercforc, to mislcad and deceive me, he told me that he 
cuuld fínd no bctlcr mode of cffacing from his mind tbc 
beauty which cnthniücd him than to absent himself for gome 
montiis i and he wishcd this to be eíFccted by our both going 
together to my Éithcr's housc, under the pretext which he 
would make to ihc Duke of going to look at and bargain íbr 
»omc fine horses that thcrc were in my dty, which brcd ihe 
bcit in thc world,' Scarcc did I hcar him say this when, 
[trompied by my own love, I approved of his design as onc 
of the moít jiidicious that could be conceived, as I should 
havc done had il bccn a worse one, seeing that it offercd me 
so tare a chance and opportuniíy of once more seetng my 
Lucinda. With this motive and dcsirc 1 commcnded bis 
Bchemc and cncourngcd his purpose, urgíng him i 



btiat thtn celcbtited tor iu btMil af hpnu [ice 



;..l. 



Don Ouixote 



~ Luí 

K 



imo execmion as speedüy as possible, for indeed absence 
would do its office, in spite of inclinations ihe strongesi. At 
the time when he apoke to me, as I afterwards learnt, he had 
ulready, under the title of husband, cnjoyed the country girl, 
and was waiting an opportunityof dívulging the matter wíth 
safcty to himself, being in fcar of what the Duke, his father, 
would do when he carne to icnow of his foUy. 

Now, ii happened that as love in young men is for the 
greaier pan not love but appctite, which as it has gratifica- 
tion for its ultimate end expires in achieving it, and what 
scems.to be love turns back, as not being able to pass the 
bounds which nature has imposed, which bounds are not 
imposed on truc love — I would say that as soon as Don 
Fernando had enjoyed the farmer's daughter hís desires were 
appeased and his importunities cooled ; so that if at first he 
had feigned a wish to absent himself as a relief for his love, 
he now in carncst sought to go in order to avoíd giving it 
effect. 

The Duke gave him leave and ordered me to accompany 
him i we arrived at my nadve city, and my tather gave Don 
Fernando the reception due to his rank. I presently saw 
Lucinda ; my passion began to be quíckened, although, in 
had neither been dead ñor duUed. To my sorrow 

spolce of it to Don Fernando, for I thought iha: by right 
of the great friendship he bore me, I was bound to conceai 
nothing from him. I extoUed to him the beauty, grace, and 
wit of Lucinda, to such an extent that my praises stirred in 
him the <Jesire to see a damsel adorned with such good parts. 
I, to my misfortune, yielded to It, showing her to him one 
night by the light of a candle from a window ihrough which 
were wont to converse. He saw her in a loóse dress i' 
such guise so beautiful as to blot from his memory all 

le besuties he had ever seen. He stood mute j he lost his 

, ^ En uyo.— ^rr d¿ikahíli/, &iyt ii (he Icxhí morniog dreBí» nol líltiDg lo the 
htfC, wDrn by Spinlih li.llu it homir. 



Don Quixote 



scnscs ; he was spell-bound ; and, in brief, so dccply 
cnamoured as you shall sec in ihc course of the atory of mjT 
misfortune ¡ and the more to inflame his passion (whtch he 
concealed from me and revealed only to the stars), il to 
happened that one day he fbund a letter of hers, praying n 
to aslc her of her fether in marriage — so sensible, so modest, 
and so tender, that on reading ít he said to me that 
Lucinda singly were contained all the charras of beauty 
and of imderstanding which werc the portions of 3II the 
other women of the worid. In good sooth, as I woutd 
now confess, ihough I saw with what just cause Don 
Fernando praised Lucinda, yet it vexed me to hear 
those praises from his mouth, and I bcgan to fear, and 
with rcason to suspect him, for not a rooment pas; 
in which he did not wish us to talk of Lucinda, and 
himself would start the conversation, even alihougb he 
had to drag the subject in by the baír,' a circumstance 
which caused in me a certain amount of jealousy, not 
that I feared any change in the goodness and íídelity of 
Lucinda ; but still my i^te made me tremble at the very 
thing against which sheassurcd me. Don Femando aJways 
continued to read the letters I sent to Lucinda, and those 
in which she replied 10 me, under the pretext that he much 
enjoyed the wit of us both, Now it happened that Lucinda^ 
having asked me for a book of chivalrics to read, of one 

of which she was very fond, which was jímatüs o/Gaid 

Scarcc did Don Quixote hear him menfion a book of 
chivalries when he exclaimcd : — Had you told me, good Sir, 
at the beginning of your story that your lady Lucinda was 
fond of boolcs of chivab-ics, there would have bcen no nced 
of further ampüfication to convince me of the superiority of 
her undcrstaiiding, for it couM not have been so good, Sir, u 



njut la nvjai fur Ja cabillas, 
e, which ú *■ mutb an ídú 
íi (tyle of Ctiilaiio'i itory. 



3,6 




Don Ouixote 



' you have tJescribed ir, had she iacked a taste for such delect- 
able readingi- So, as ^r as I am concerned, you need noi 
waste words ¡n deelaríng to me her beauty, worth, and 
incdligence, since frotn merely hearing of this her inciina- 
tion I do rank her to be the mosc beautífut and sensible 
woman in the world ; and I could have wished, Sir, that along 
with jimadis you had sent her the worthy Don Rugel of 
Greeeíy for I know that the lady Lucinda would be greatly 
pleased with Da raída and Garaya, and the shrewd conceit of 
the shepherd Darinel, and those admirable Unes in his 
bücolics, sung and rehearsed by him, with all grace, wit, and 
freedom.' But a time Tnay come when this default can be 
amendcd, and for the amending nothing more is nceded than 
that your worship shouid be good enough to come with me to 
my village, for there I will be able to give you more than 
three hundred books,* which are the joy of my soul, and the 
cntertainmentof my hfei^though now I recoUect that 1 have 
nonc, thanks to the malicc of wicked and envious enchanters. 
Pardon me, Sir, for having broken our promise not to 
intcrrupt your narrativc; but in hearing of matters gf 
chivalry and Kníghts Errant, it is no more possihle for me 
to refrain from speaking of them than it Is for the sun's rays 
to help giving warmth and the moon's giving moisture.* 

1 ThOE ■« duracleri in lie romante of De-, FUUrl dt iV/^wa, the worlt of 
FcliciiBo de Siln. Fur » crítícúm af Üu boolc, ind of chctc laid bucoücs. ice 
whal the Priat twy* íu ch. vi. 

' Id ch. vi. it w» u\i thil ia Dod Quiíote'i librity ihcre ivere ■' more ttian 
1 huodttd of greít booki," maniog Ihow of chiviltiei, i\\ of which wne 
|natrd in folio, bsiitri imaller onii of jiiictry. But, »t ClemencÍD remorki in 

^l^l» place, " who itki of ■ tnidoun *□ ac«Diial of vrhit he ti'jt 1" — the vcry 

^mcNioa he lo oftea aiki of Doa QníiDle. 

F ■ Tbi moon. in the vulgar belicf o( ihsl i|;e. wai the humíd plioít, the ciuic 

^ «nil generalor of water laá ill dampnHi, u the lua wu of firc and af all hat. 
Cloncocin ipiotn in amaiing pinige from > contemintuy lothur, Getóuiíno 
Conñ. who Hva, in hú Z-murü Ptrptim, that "thii planet i> cold lud moiit, 
mterf, noctim, and fn^oine; hiving dominioa ove 



I, gnd 6ih, white ¡ 



T pumpkiai, 



Don Ouixote 



Thcrefore, forgive me, aad procced, fbr that is dow more to 
ihe purpoBc. 

Duríng tile time that Don Quixotc «ns ddtvcniíg 
hímsclf of thc aforcsaid, Cardento he\¿ his hcad down upoa 
hU brcast, seemingl}' plunged in profound mcditatíon % and 
although Don Qutxoie twicc called upon him to go on wHh 
his story, he neithcr raised his hcad ñor answcred a WOrd. 
Bul M thc end of a long pause, he looiced up and saU : — I 
cannot get ríd of the thought, ñor shall there be 3ay one ía 
thc world to rid me of it, or persuade me of aught ebc, — 
and he would be a blocichead to bold or bcKcvc thc contmy, 
^that Master Elisabad, that arch rogue, was the paramoor 
of thc Queen Madásima.' 

— Not so, I Bwcar by all tbat's good, replíed Don 
Quixote, in great wrath, bursting out as hís cusiom was ^— 
and it is a very great calumnr, or rathcr viUainy. The 
Qucen Madásima was a very noble lady, and it is not to be 
prcsumed that so exaJied a príncess should be the lemán of a 
mountcbank,' and whoever maintains thc contrary, lies-, Uke 
a very great scoundrel, and I will make him know it, on (bot 
or on horseback, armed or unarmed, by night or by day, or 
s he lilces bcst. 

Cardenio stood looking at him very intently, far IIOW 
the mad fit was come upon hJm, and he was ín no mood 
lo pursue his story, ñor Don Quixote eíthcr to listoi to í^ 
so much dísgusicd was he at whai he bad hcari) afaout 

I Cirdtnia coaroundi Mi<!)<im(. who w» nevcr ■ Qoeen. with tbe E*riiiaM 
Gtuindi íd ^madu «/ Crtai. Eliiibsd. ciUed Mitlcr for hí* rui >kill in 
•argtry, wii alio i prifil ind ■ hiilonuí j ¡a thc formcr clunctcr chintilif 
miuct to piopitiitc HavcQ in fivuur of Amidií o( G^aL, befo» he upent lattl* 
with ■ mooiliaui Orugon ¡ ¡n the Utlct. writiog of the decdt ot EapUadiui. hi> 
wn. There aever vru inythlng bnweoí ElíuW uiá Midiiimt. But that k 
1 tctiin lidy of that namr Id Amadit efCtat^ the daughlcr of thc giwit FunoD- 
gonudin, tu wbom üaUor vu alI that MaiIcF Eliiabatl ii iharged witli belog. 

* Stuffira — lit. a ijtuck who jirofeaia to cure certain maUiliei uf tli« 
umim. Pura b " tcrolal hemli." Hace, tay law pratiitioner, mediciilcr, or 

3-8 



W*P. 2 + 



Don Ouixote 



Madásima. Strange case ! that he should stand up for hcr 
as though she were in truth his real and natural mistress ; so 
possessed was he by his accursed books. Cardenio being 
now, as I have said, tnad, and hearing himseif caÜed liar 
and villain, wilh oiher like insults, took the jesc in Íll part, 
and lifting upastone he found near him, gave Don Quixote 
such 3 blow with it on the breast that he knocked him down 
on bis back. Sancho Panza, seeing his master thus treated, 
went at the madman with his denched fists ; but the 
Tattered One gave him such a reception, that with one 
blow he laid him at his fcet, and then getting upon him, 
pounded his ribs, very much to his own content. The 
goatherd, who thought to defend him, shared the same fete, 
and after he had beaten and bclaboured thcm a!l, he left 
them and composedly withdrew to his mountain ambush. 
Sancho rose, and in a rage at ñnding himself thus punished 
undeacrvediy, ran to takc vengeajice on the goatherd, declar- 
ing that it was he who was in fault, for not having warned 
them that the man was given to these fits of madness ; 
for had they known it, thcy would have beeii careful to be on 
their guard, The goatherd replied that he had told them so, 
and that if he had not heard it, the feult was not his, 
Sancho retorted ; the goatherd rejoined ; and the and of the 
recriminations was that they seized each other by the beard 
and gave each other such blows, that if Don Quixote had 
not pacified them, they would have knocked one another to 
pieces. Holding fast of the goatherd, Sancho cried ; — Let 
me be, your worship, Sir Knight of the Rueful Feature, for 
of this fellow who Ís a churl, like myself, and no dubbed 
Knight,' I may safciy take satistaction for the injury he has 
done me, fíghtíng him hand to hand like a man of honour. 

— True, said Don Quixote i but I know that he is not to 
blame for what has happened. 

' KcferrÍDg to whal Dod Quizóte tüd nid to him ía chipien viii., ■*„ (nd 

3'9 



Don Ouixote 



With this he pacified thcm, and again enquired of the 
goatherd whether it wcre possible to find Cardenío, for he: 
had thc greatest longing to know the end of h¡s story. 
The goatherd repeated what he had told him at firsi, that 
there was no knowing for certain where Cardcnio had hi» 
lair ;' but that if he went much about these parts he couU 
not (ail to find him, mad or sane.* 



» Mimiífl — 



■dwdlinfc" fram «.«r 



.g-plica of wilil briiU 



uively Dicd of thc 



man of piuioo. wlio ii oat at ik 
KDKt tímporarily, ihaugh ool a« of hit wili j >nd Don QuiíiXc, the madmu 
of Kntimeac ind cDtbiuium, «hoic witi ire overlumed, Ihougb lie irttiat bk 
troia, u bEpt Bp Ihroughoul the lime with la irt nat leu adtninble br bdnf 
licpl •ubtetvlent to the ilory. Don Quitóte ptneiwt the midneu la Ütt oths, 
■Dd thoifore bcars no rttentntaa od iccoant of the knock-down blow. Jiinai 
the tone l>cB¡n» to be «ctíoia ud píiníul, » between l»o nadmen it oaúld ■>« 
£iil (o be, Cervantei bríop in, with bit oinal fiae úutíact of the i Jimíii. Ibe 
teene of eomedy btlwccn Sancho and ihe goatherd, wh¡ch bringt m ¡q touch once 
more with ihe llorj. utd n-knit) thc brokea tbrad of Ibe Duritive^ 



APPENDICES 



VOL. I 



321 



21 



'T ■ 

'if 



ll 




THE ROMANCES OF CHIVALRV 



of chivalry, ihe popular tastc for which, in its 
was thc obJEci of Cervantes in his Don Quixote 

.aid íot the most part to owc their survival 
venhrew their infiuence. Sceing thc cxtent 
been used by Ccrvanics in ihc composition 
c, and the cióse conneijoa bciwecn ihc 
ed in them and ihose which are 
Qc account of thcíC once famous 



titravagance, it w; 

to thc book which 
to which ihcy hav 
of hia own romai 
adventurcs and inciden 
introduced into Don Qi 
books of chivalries, by ihe rcading of which the wita of Alonso 
Quiíano were curned 90 thac he imagined himsetr a Knight 
Erraní, is absoluicly ¡ndíjpensable for thc proper understanding 
of Don Qaixíle. I will not attempt in this place to give my 
rcaders a complete history of that literature which, cspecially in 
Spain, attaincd to a growth so monsnous and to a popularíty so 
amazing. They must be contcnt with a concise bibliography 
only of such <if the boots as are direcily mentíoned by Cervantes, 
or to thc scencs and characters of which he has madc refcrenee 
in Den Quixeie, — by way of a general supplcracnt to the bricf 
notes which are appcndcd to thc English text. 

There is no better claitsifi catión of the romances ihan (hat 
which ¡s proposed by Señor Gayangos, in his cicellent Dii- 
(UTSo PrtIiminaT to the Liíros áe Caialltrtas, publiahed in the 
BiUhttca it Aatirn Esf¿3oUt (1857). Scfior Gayangos divides 
thc Romances into six classcs :— ist, Thc Bretón ; and, The 
Ctriovingian ; 3rd, Thc Oreco-Asiatic ; ^th, The Divine or 

323 



Don Ouixote 



Religiooí Book» ¡ Jth, The Hiitorícil ; »nd 6th. The Trwnli- 
lion* or Panphruei of the Ronuntic Pocms oí ítaly inio Spuiíh. 
Fot mj own purpme, iccing th2t I confine my sclf simplf to tlit 
booki in Don Quixoie'i libnry and co thosc mcationed I7 
Ccn-Kom, it will be mote conrenient to adopt a stmpler, diOTí^ 
probibly lesi logicíl, dimion into five cUssci. vis. — in, tbc 
Ramuic« of CvliUan Origin, of whicfa Amadis t/Gdaln tbc 
lypc i md, the Books of Provenpil or Valencian grawth j y¿, 
the Cirlovtngivi Romiuccs ; 4th, the Bretón ; and jth, ■]! 
othen of vanoii» kinds, not to be broughi into any of die 
categoríci. 



:LASS i,— THB CASTILtAtí ROMAÍfCES 
SicT. I. — The Fauilv of Amad» 






The fine of the seríes of purely Spuii&h books of chivaltio, 
«* Cervantes himself has said, anil the parent of tbis «peciei of 
literaiute ín the Peninsula, was unqucstionably Amiuiit a/ GmL 
The age of ihi» book, as from tnternal evídcncc was plaioly u» 
be gathered, hai now becn incontestably proved by Sefiot 
Gayando» to be considerably earlicr than has hitbciio been 
■Upposed ; and to the sune authority we are indebted for ham| 
clcarcd up all doubti as co its origin. For many gcDcration* 
the Améáit wai held 10 be of Pottuguese invention — tbc authot- 
sbip being crcdiied to Vasco de Lobeira, a knight of Ring 
Joara 1.'$ coart, who flourishcd duríng the lattcr half of tbc 
fourtccnth cetitury. Soathey, in ihe prefice to his traaüatioii 
or rathcr abiidgmcnt, of Amaiis, unhesiucingly aeccpts the ÚMorf 
of Vasco de Lobeira being the author, and indccd such waa tbe 
general belíef even Id Spain, By the French, of coorse, wha 
claím everythitig thai ii lomantic, or witty, or humorous to be 
theirs by divine right, the sourcc of Amúiis is declared to be 
Francc. The Comte de Trcssan, who madc what is, \a a doable 
sensc, a frec truvestit of sontc of thcse Spaiiish romances, pie* 
tendí to havc sccn a manuscript of Amadis in the Ptcard langUAge 
in ilie Vatican ; but hii veraciiy is probably no more la be 
trustcil than his logíc when he gravcly argües that bccause the 
3H 



Don Quixote 



árst chrre booki of Amadis are superior in tone and in caste co all 
auccecding oncs, thcreforc thcy must have been originally French. 
Sir Walter Scott seems lo have been the firsc, in an árdele in ihe 
Quárurly Rtvie^, va suggcst, froto a curious passagc in the boolt 
itsclf, that Lobcira could not have been the original author. 
The question has sincc been thrcshed out, and therc is no 
longer any reason to doubt — fü, th:^r Jmadií was of Caaiilian 
hirth ; and md, that die atory j n yn^nr- «hap^ waa current in 
Spain befare j ji" "'i-<'<)f ^ f the fourtrfnt h fpnnifj, I must be 
contení here to quote one leading fact in the long ptocess of 
argumcnt by whlch chis point has been «ettied, referring ihoie 
who desire to invcsiigate the macter farther to Gayangos' Prr- 
liminary DricoarJC, or to Barct'a V Amada Je Gaule (1853). In a 
pocm by the famous López de Ayala, Chancellor of Castíle, who 
fought at the baltle of Najcra, and was laten prisoncr by the 
Black Prince and brought to England, he describes him^elf as 
hai-ing foolishly wasted niuch rime in rcading tJiose lying books, 
Jmai'n and Lancikt. Now the battle of Najcra waa fought in 
1367, whcn Ayala was 6ve and thirty ycars of age. Aa the 
rcfcrence is obviously to tbe days of his youth, the Aisadis, 
spoken of ■) a well-known book, raust have been cutrent at léase 
as far back ai I3;<>> It could not, thcreforc, possibly have been 
a trantlation frotn the Portugucse of Vasco de Lobcira, who was 
known to have been knighted at ihe battle of Aljubarrota, in 
138;, and could not have been much older than twcnty-five 
at that date. (Scc Gayangos and Baret.) A further and con- 
clusive proof that Lobciía wa: not the original author is found in 
a curíous passage in ch. zl. bk. i. of AmadiSy relaling to a cerlain 
adveniure of that chaste herowiih Briolania, Quecn of Sobradisa, 
in which the writcr confesses that he was compclled to altcr 
"what incffcct had been written " {aqsuik qut in efctto ¡e escrivia) 
in deference 10 the wishcs of the Infante Alfonso of Portugal, 
who, having laken pity on that diiconsolate damsel, insistcd that 
her love should be reiurned. So returned it was (under protest 
of the compiler), who reluctantly makes Amadts brcak his vows 
of constancy to Oriana, with the reauh 10 Briolania of twini, — 
I boy and agid. The ^hame-faccd reluctancc with which the 




Don Ouixote 



■nthor, or ca«pfl«, who mght luiv been Lobeirs, bui «ru dk 
pwb ^ ly MoomItu. lecords tlm ÍDcidcDt, to damiging to t 
hcfo'i chancter — tpokigMiig u posieiity' fur haring bcci 
oompellcd to ficU to the Roril wiili, — ñ mott ammtng. 
obviow, u Sean obicnres, liut dtc wwk opoa K-faich ] 
mxle tkü üitcipoUtioa vai not hü owti, bol a traiulattoD o 
panphnae oí lonc older Mory. In bríef, wLu ii cstabliilial b 
the lacest raexrdiet » tlut there wu an jímt£i in tfaree fa 
cuncnt in Spñn u Icasc as late as the middle of the fónneenik 
ceunrf, and probablf cailier ; üui Lobdra mnslaied tluí 
orígioal Spanisb ftorj ínto PortogaeM ; tlut ■ inbseqoi 
aBthor, Garci Ordofiez de Monnlvo, bnmgbt bock the ronuDCC 
into Casdlian, with additioa» of hii own : proaing it, «ccording 
to bis owa lutemeni, of many luperflaom phrascs and anti^ot 
wordt, and pacting ocfaen \a thcir place of ■ " more poUie and 
degant ttyle," with ihe objcct of " iaspiíing the geade hew 
ofwarlikc yauth uid uiimitiag the immonal mcmory of the t 
of Chtvílry, no less mosc honoutablc ihan glorion»." 

Moncalvo, accordiag to hi« pteface, muit have wríiteo sin 
the conquett of Granada in 1492. The date of his btt 
cdition of JmuMi is aaknonn, bul Señor GijrangiM ts of opinioa 
ihat che book was prínced before the cióse of the fifteenth 
ccntury. Gayingos himself in his catalogue quoics the ediitan 
of Salamanca of i^io at the earliest ciEini ¡ but sincc, ihen 
appcared at Sotheby and WilkiusoD'i sale of the Ba/on 1 
Setlliíre's Libruy, in 1889, an edition of Zaragoza, bclicvcdlo ! 
onique, of the date of 1508. The fuU titlc of this precio 
votume ís — 



Lot jKairsi ¡tiret dt¡ Virtueít CavalUrt Amaiit áe Giimla^ 

The Pouith Book is tupposcd to be 
probable that he 



Montalvo, but it is more 
thrce books into four. 
Amúiis ended wíth the arríval of the her 

Lisaarte, after the battlc with the giants (bk. it. ch. xviii.)i 
Ccrtainly thcrc are some incidents in the Third Boolc, 1 
326 



itirety the worfc < 

[paoded the orígútal 

n that the original 

the coutt of King 




Don Ouixote 



indecd, ihc whole of thc adventutes in Constan ti nople and in 
the Island of thc Dcvi!, with the daughter of the Dragón, which 
ícem to me lo be of a more modcrn cast. I am inclincd lo 
bclieve chat the passagcs eiiolling the piety of Amadis ind 
recording his benefactions to the Church and his endowments 
of monasterics, which are cuiiously out of gear with the rcat ot 
the ítory, have been interpolaied, Thc cnd of ihe fifteeijth 
and the bcginning of (he sixieenth cenmry waa the period whcn 
the ecclcsiasticai power in Spain firsc reached ila high develop- 
ment, under Isabclla the Catholic. The founeenth century, 
whcn thc romance was begotien, was not so rcligious. The 
magic in the Amadis propcr is of ihe most pr¡m¡t¡ve kind, and 
the supematural searcely perceptible. Arcalaus is but a fccblc 
hand at soiccry ; and Urganda a very unimagiiiative fairy, whose 
powers are quite uncqual to her good intentiotis. As to al] that 
relates to the birth of Esplandian and his myatcriouj bringing up, 
it ts clearly ¡niroduccd by Montalvo in order to lead up to whst 
is tndisputably his own story, and the Fifth Book of AmadU, 
called — 



Liu Sergas del 



eavalltra Esplendiav^ hip át jímadit. 



Inasniuch as thcre ia ■ Síith Boolc eitant, with the date of 
1510, it is not unrcasonahly conjecturcd that thc date of the 
firsi cdition of Eiplandian must be before 1 ; 10. Nonc is now 
known eailier than 1525. Esplandian is the son of Amadis and 
Orianí, bom before their nuptials, as was so often the case with 
the héroes of chivalric romance. Montalvo relates with much 
simplicity how thc fairy Urganda appeareS^to hím, and while 
urging him lo his lask, spoke of his being almost too silly and 
unlettered a man to hold such an office as that of Regidor in the 
State- The advcntures in Esflartiian are of less interest than 
ihose in jímadií, thc son being rocrely a copy of the father in all 
his exploits, only more valianí and less virtuous. 

The Sinth Book of Amadis is that dirccied to the great and 
notable dccds of Don FUriienda, Prioce of Cantaría, sod of Don 
Flofcstan, and nephcw of Amadi». It ii by an unknown hand, 
and very scarce in aoy cdition. 
~ 3"7 




Don Quixote 



The Sevenih Book trc«t3of ihcgrcaí dccdí m anns of Liiiurtt 
e/Grttct, che son of Esplindtan, and of PcrioQ of Gaul, «oB t£ 
Galaor, hís unde. The anonynioui aathor, believcd to bc 
FcHciano de Silva, ín a dcdication to the Archbishop of Seville, 
ind the manuscript (writtcn ¡n Grcek hj tkc 
] London, whence he bronght ít to Spun and 
tnendationi. This was a common fomi with 
in ordcr to hcightcn thcir reade»' 
s parodied. Many of the patsage* 
introduced here, wich Amadit 



declares that he fou 

magicun AJquifc) ii 

Iranílaced it, with 

the writers of thcs 

curiosiry, which Ccr 

iti the original story of Amadií a 

hioisclf, and the adventures have a strong 1 

those of the parent romance, on\j that thcy are dctcríbcd nith 

Icss simplicity and more cíaggeration. The geograpby ia even 

wilder and íncludes a grcater ringe of country, — the Ktiighti 

being called in to a^ist at a domcatic picce of busincat, fighdag 

fot the Spanish King against Et MirtmeUn (Amir-ai-Memnim) in 

the neighbourhood of Cordova. 

The Eighth Boofc of Jmiiais is conccroed with íhc deedi 
of the same Lisaartt of Greta, nephew of Amadit, by amother 
hand, Juan Diaz, who apparcntly was not «ware of the cxittence 
of the Sevenih Book until iis publicación, for he oríginallf called 
his own the Scventh. Iti this, the oíd Amadis, now King of 
Great Briíain, is hard pressed by a combinaiion of hii encnÚM 
(pagans) in his capital of Fmusa {Winchester ?), until rclieved by 
his ncphews and a strong contiiigent of Knights Errant, riised 
from cvery part of Christendom — the Pope con&encing, ai the 
prayer of the confederares, and in view of the great pcrii i 
true religión, to relax his ordinance against Knights Errant. In 
the end the Chrísciins conqucr, and the hcathen are compelled 
to abandon their designs upon Great Britain. In the i74th 
chapter, the oM Amidis dics, and is buried with eicraordinary 
ceremony. The book is not less rate than others of the series, 
the first edition being apparcntly that of Seville, ijaÓ. 

The Ninth Booli is siyled the Chrenidí ef tht vtry veliami amJ 
fuissant Princt and Knigh e/tke Burning Stverd Amadis q/ Grtftt, 
ibe tm o/LiiiiarU tf Grette. Thii is by Feliciana de Sí1t«, the 
pTccumed author of Li¡uar:t e/Greeer. In this. the chivalñc 

32S 



atfbndix a 



Don Ouixote 



( carríed to Íia utmost piích oí extra vagan ce. Silva 
changing the siylc of \be oldcr books into one peculiar lo him- 
fidí, of cilraordinary floweiincss and (odomontadc, »uch as 
Cervantes has ridicukd in Don Qaixoie. In Amadií af Grttte, 
*]| the oíd héroes, or such of thcm as survive, are ¡ntroduced, 
with advcnturcs very similar though more tcdious and ¡nsipid, 
and one novelty, which is the pastoral element, is now for the 
first time mingled with the warlikc business, — markíng a change 
in the popular tas te. 

The ncit, or Tenth Book in the series, is also by Feliciano de 
Silva, callcd the Chrmitlti ef Don Tlariielie Ni^uea ana the ira 
JnaxarUs, istij ef Amadií of Greece, in two parís. This was first 
príntcd al Valladolid in t ^^z, I< eihibits Silva ín his topmost 
freniy of chivalrie invention, with somc new personages, and a 
furiher development of the pastoral business. 

The Eleven th Bookof jÍHi.íi/íJ,callcd thechírd pirt of f/íriWfl'í 
Niqíua, ¡3 also by Feliciano de Silva, and is dedicated to the record- 
ingof rhc prodigious adventures of Don Regel (or Rugei) ef Griete, 
thcsonofFloriscl. Itwasfirsi published at Seville, ¡n 15 36, with 
a conlinuation in i;;i,eDlargÍng upon (he amours of Don Rogcl 
with the fair Archisidea. This continuación is lemarkable for a 
long prologue, addressed to the Queen Doña María, daughter of 
Charles V., in which Silva cnumeraces the warlike deeds of her 
faiher, espceially his campaign against the Protcstants in Saiony, 
from which it is supposed that the book was intended to celé- 
brate, as in an allegory, the military and domestic virtues of the 
Emperor Charles. 

The Tweifth Book is Z)(í» Sihis át U Selva, Icss known than 
any of the preceding, by Pedro de Lujan, pubüshed in 1 546. 

The Thincenth Book is that of Ei/tramunM. son of Rogcl and 
Archiaidea, of doublful origin. The only eiisting versión is an 
ttalian one, said by the aulhor, Mambnno de Rosco, to have 
been takcn from the Spanish ; but Gayangos supposes it to be of 

Thcrc Í9 a still more dubious Fourteenth Book, callcd Ptnaht, 
written in Poriugucse, in which the author, noi satisfied with 
the death of Amadis in the Eighth Book, brings him to life again 
329 



Don Quixote 



in ordcr to finísh him off wttb more cercmony. Nodú 
known of Ptnaha, ciccpt from a notíce in Nicolfs Anb 
BiblMhtta Nova. 

Herc ends thc long line of Aciadis of G«ul in I 
country, — the moíi famous and mo&c popular of all the Kt 
SpinUh romances, not only in Spaiti bul among foreign n» 
A compleie collection of these romances in the origina] fal 
a ifcaaure such aa has hithcrlo bafflcd the qnest of the kc 
bibUomaniac. Pcrhaps my friend Don Pascual pofsesio a 
and rarer library of books of chivalries than any whích i 
Fcw of ihcm have been reprinted since che tixteenih centnr] 
nearly all remaín in ihe Gothíc lettcr. The «olumc of 
dt CahalUr'uu^ cditcd by Gayangos, publishcd in Rivadei 
series, includes only the four parts of the original ^ 
with the Sffgai lie Eiplamlian. The translationa are nun 
Nicholas D'Herberay, Sicut dea Essarts, at the ínatance, it i 
a{ Francia I., lurned sii of ihc ñrsc booba of Amaáts into Fl 
in 1540 ; and che series has been coniinued in French by 
hands, wilh the addítion of new books, uniil a Twcnty-f 
Book ¡a reached by an anonytnoua translator, which appeaí 
Parisin 1615. Thcsc latcr French continuationa an 
in all the tedeeming qualítica of ihe original JmáMs: ÚK 
is debased, and ihe native stmplicity and giace degraded 
loosencss and obaccníty. In the Twenty-thírd Book the * 
turcrs betakc them to America, a couniry which up to 
had never been meniioned. Even the original tranalatio 
D'Herberay, though intercsting fot thcir picturesquc oíd Frt 
depart grcatly from the Spaniah lext, the manners of the h 
being Frenchiüed aa well as their language, while Gaul 
BQCCstra! home of the Amadiscs, is madc to be not Walc 
Franco. There are two early Englísh tranelationa oí A 
Thomaa Paynel and by Anthony Munday, — one of EspUy 
atid some of the Utcr héroes, — aSl of which are now very m 
Atiaáis having been almoat as much read in England for a 
aa he waa in Spain. Southe/s versión of the romance 
abridgment, with many of ihe chara ctcristic acenca 01 
writtcn with much clegancc and spirit, howcvcr. and in a 
330 




Don Ouixote 



AppeNnix A 



which makes the oíd story cven now very readable. Therc are 
Italian venions of moic of thesc books. Bernardo Tasso ku 
foundcd on Amadis his poera of jimaáigi di Francia (mistaking 
Gaul for Francc), and the grcaier poet, his son, praises it is "the 
mo&t bcauciful and, perhaps, iKe most prolitablc stoiy of its kiad 
íh« can be rcad," 



Sect. 2.— The Palmes 



The next family of romances belonging to this cycle, almosc 
equal in popularity to the Amadises and quite as prolific, is that 
of the Palmtrini. The Jirst of chcse, ihe parcnt of the race, is 
Palmirin «f Oliva, saíd to have been the work of a carpenter's 
daughtcT of Burgos (Gayangos saya Ciudad Rodrigo), which was 
first printed a[ Salamanca in ipi. Eight editions followed in 
quick succession. Thia Palraerin was che son of Florendos, who 
was the son of Priraaleon or Pigmaleon, King of Macedonia, 
Bcing of unlawfu! birth, he was exposed by his mother in an 
olive plantation, whencc his namc de Oliva, After many adven- 
tures in the manncr of Amadis, though told with far less spirit 
and simplicicy, Palmcrin bccomes Emperor of Consiantinople. 
To him succeeded his son Primaken, by the same pen, after whom 
carne PoUnda, followed by PUair and Fhtir — none of them of 
much accDunt. 

The Sixth in this series, and by far the bcst aa well as raosi 
famous, is Palmerin of EngUnd, who was wn of the King Duardos 
or Duarde (Edward), and of Flerida, daughtcr of Palmerin of 
Oliva. This " Palm of England," as Cervantes calis it. was, likc 
JmaMs of Gaul, his great rival, for a long time supposed to be 
of Portuguese origin — the work of one Francisco Moracs, of 
Evora. But che díscovery of a Spanish versión, printed at Toledo 
in 1 5+7, proves, as Vicente Saivi was the firsc to poinc ouc in the 
Rtptrtorit Americano (vol. iv.), ihat the author was Luis Hurtado, 
whosc ñame is revcaled in an acrostic addresscd to che reader. 
(See che whole quescion discusscd in Gayangos' cracc. De Palmerin 
de Inglaterra j de m firdadero Juiar. Madrid, i86i.) As a 
ttory Palmerin ig only inferior to jfmadií, on che general scheme 
33' 



Don Ouixote 



ofwbick ti a fasWed. hlncñ kwa kathi^ 




AméA ñ of tkc tiMUea ih ceacnj, whcn clwrafaT' «■* 
lnrñi( &Mfe ^tA a Rxl r i virarin « ; f ■hm« b of ike ñe 
ceantfj, wbcB tbc pare idcri of fai g fcllw»»! had beca I 
ovt bf tk ijám ef |,iJil mlii^, ifce pc J a cí of dM Am 
JhoNenes. Wkn Lú Haiado wmcc, Kitighft amA K 
cRXBiiy woc ali^idy i tad ow * «f ik p>K. vñb BO onse ; 
tbsa [be cfaigoB* dKf dew imI tbe mt^ tliqr enoon 
Tbe «wyrf Ptkmrim, m bóagantc nmlcni, kn mofcof I 
ÜLicicM tkan tbc «ba. Tbe iniaa b iBan mied, the ■ 
len ttnmcd ; iboc b Hore scBñfaQítj', ■> Ticbue rcna 
nanml KtvKTj ; vm coc pomugo» u CZcfrxnm i^i^ tau 
««lily aoíd Baranlt;-. In npad n ihe SgKrinfr SMnbcy al 
most jndicKMnlj : — ** Wbcn tfac nthoi of Amt£i bn m o 
to dociibe, be fablj i^oi it ; m tbb be «ceedi all poro i 
TQOuttcen ; eren Anovto snd xm> are nr mi^nor 10 búa. 
utbor of Ptimtríw, on tbe uMUiij . seta evtTTthing 
eyct : he pü&n tbe Ibn and ibe ipe ct u ora, and enien ia 
feelinp both of tbooc *iu> are cugigMl aad tbo»c arbo lool 
Southcv coDclodei ■ Ttxj laaciatory iiofk« of dic book (of 
be pradoced an Eaglnlt radoa in 1807) whicb b atü 
readable, by declaiing — "I kncnr of no roatance and mt 
in wlúcb tnpeiue ccHKeraing tbe coDcIuáoo b to aaecci 
kepc np." In many mpects Ptihttrim »f E^UaJ iaSén B 
from all the other romances, and cfaiefly by a 
of thou^t and a greater ifaonr ofliEcrarjart. It docí noC 1 
to have been reprinied 10 ofien as most of ibc ochen ; and 
original edidon of 1 5+7-4.8 onlj- two copies an kno^ra 
eiunt, onc of which ¡1 in ihc Brítish MoKara. Thnre 1 
early Englisli nanslation in 1 601 by " the Grnb Siieet Paifi 
Anthony Munday (probably from the Frencb), which b a wn 
piece of Work, wheiein te n conJídently siatcd, "gendencí 
find choicc of swcet invcntions and gentlewomcn be 
couttiy expectaiion*." 

The Portugoese carried on tbe line of Pilmerín 



Don Ouixote 



üiree generacions, bul wíih chcsc, though che sccnc U «till laid in 
England, we are not here concerned. 

The cwo classes of thc Amadiies and the Palmerins niskc up 
what Gayuígos calis ihe " Greco- As íatic," and Duran thc " Galo- 
Grecian" cycie. I should rachcr cali íc ihc Hispano-BrUish 
clan. All the principal héroes, though chcy go far aficid for 
ídvencures, are of British, Welih, or Scotüsh origtn. Their 
homes are in the Briiiah Islands. AmadU comes to be King of 
Grcat Brinin himself, and Palmerin is son of a King of England. 
In fact, all interna! evidcnce tcnds lo conÜrm the hypothcsíi thit 
thc typícal romance of chivalry in its pctfect form, which is thc 
ncw Amadií of GbuI, grew Ínto beíng with the arrival of thc English 
contingcnt in Spain, in 1367, undcr the Black Prince, himself 
[he most famous warrior of thc day, with thc flowcr of Brítish, 
Norman, and Gascón chivalry, in aid of thc cause of Don Pedro 
against his bastard brother Enrique. This was ihe firsc time in 
history that Spain was brought into actual contacc with England ; 
and though the campaign waa of little pcrmanent benciit to eithcr 
jide, it cannot be doubtcd that the spectacle of thia armoured 
host, under the leadership of ihc grcat, chivalrous, and victorious 
Prince, left a decp irapression on thc popular imagination, It is 
truc that thc knowledge gained of England and of Englishnicn 
was somcwhat vague. Thc gcography of Amadis is rather con- 



fused, seeing that Windsor (Vindü! 
Amadla has to takc ship froni Walc 
while he ís ablc to ride frora London 
should be a península on thc coaat of 
writcra mcant to poini to Grcat Briti 
chivalry in the fouricenth ccntury, a 
Couít of Edward III. being the ma 
as the most perfecc system of Knighthood 
Round Table. while thc Black Prince was 
by his feats, and might 



T extellence — the model v 



and adven 



lade an iíland, and 

;et to Grcat Britain, 

ínsula Firme, which 

ny. But clcarly the 

thc principal seai of 

lubtcdly it was, — the 

diatinguiahcd in that age 

thc model of thc 

II known in Spain 

le ILnight Ertaní 



Don Ouixote 






ROMARC» 



Of the iiories belonging neither to the Amadis nar lo ihe 
Palmerín tenet which Gayangos incladet in his Grcco-Aiiuic 
cycle, the mcat notable is thal of Belisnis tfGrtere, writien by 
oae Gciónimo Fernandez, sn advócate of Madrid, undcT tlic 
ñame of tbe Sage Frision. This wai the favoiiritc book of 
Charles V,, distinguishcd by Cervantes for its "eicessíve chola, 
needing "a littlc rhubafb to purge it," It is one of the mO) 
foolúh and eitravaganí of the series, alchough the Archbühop 
of Rosas (citcd by the author) avers Belianii to be witbout in 
equal atnong the Knights of that age for piety, " ín which qnaliiy 
he excelled tfae mosi sequestered of monks," — ai he rery mil 
might do. 

Of [henumerousKnighisoftheindependentsort is Dtn Cirm- 
giíh ¿e Trada, by Bernardo de Vargas, publishcd I 545 — knowa 
only as having been one of the books ín the innkeepcr'i collec- 
tion, togciher with FtUxmartt or Fhñimartc ef H¡r(4MÍa, whicli 
was also in ihc líbrary of Don Quiíote. Among (hese may be 
reckoncd Den fhrambtl ie ¿««u, wh ose adven ture with a Princeu 
ín the dark is supposcd lo havc suggested ihe scene bctwecn 
Don Qui lote and Maritornes. LtpiUmt, or the Knight «f til 
Crass, is another of the book) which were in Don Quixott'í 
library, descríbed by Gayangoi ¡n lerms which scarcely seem 
to juslify the scntcncc pronounced on hím by (he Pricit at the 
Inquisítion. It diffcrs much from its class. The advcntUKi, 
though marvellous, are not incredíble. The geography is IcM 
wíld, ihough che sccnes are laid in places híthcrto untroddea by 
the foot of Knight Errant, such as Trípoli and Kairwan, lo 
place of dwarfa and damsels there are monks and chaplaiai. 
There are no enchanimcnts, giants, or anything supcmatura]. 
The amhor is said to be Xarton, who, though versed in the magjc 
arts, is of good intcnt and naturc — more like Cid Hunet 
Benengeli, it has been said, than are any of the other Sagcs vrho 
have writtcn such books. OUvanii dt Laura is another book 
which has che honour of havíng been íncludcd in Don Quizóte'! 
library, and convcycd 10 che yard for ici arrogance and silUne». 

334 




Don Ouixote 



Las[!y, there nced only be mentioned in this cksa Ihi Knigki 
of Phttbus ot Jlfein, whose advenlures are ¡ncluded in thc four 
partí of Thr Mirrer of frincfi and Knighti (not to be confoundcd 
with El Espejo di !a¡ CabalUr\a¡ to be mciuioncd hercafter), 
This has ihe distinction of being by general consent the most 
puciilc and stupiíl of all ihe booksof ehivalries — marking thc vcry 
lowcM poict touched by the human imagination conccrningilsclf 
wilh (hese inventions. Yet, though dírectly aaiiriscd and bur- 
Icsqucd by Cervantes, to the Knighl of Phabus \% to be assigned 
the singular glory of having been twicc rcprintcd «fter the 
■ppearanee of Den Qi/ixiiU — in 1617 md 1613. 



r CLASS II.— THE PROVEN^AL ROMANCES 

The romancea of naiivc Spaniah birth, but which were either 
written originally in the Valencian or Catalán dialect or owe 
thcii insptration 10 a kindrcd Provcn^al source, stand naturally 
apatt frora those of Castilian growth, Thc most rcraarkablc 
of thcm, and, indced, one of the three principal booka of chival- 
rica for niatter and style — Amad'n and Paimtrin af Engiani 
being thc othcr two — ís Tiraalt el BLnco, — or, as it was called 
in its nitivc tongue, Tirant h BUitch, — or, lo give him his fa!l 
titlc. io valorm t ¡trenu Cavalier Tirant ¡o Bliinih, Pritiítp del 
Imperi Grech de Canicjiiniihle : Valencia, 1490, 

This, the carüest cxiiting book of ehivalries in Spain, is 
[he worfc of ihe " raagiiificent and virtuous cavalier," Johannot 
de Martorell, said in thc titlc-page to have bcen translated from 
the English inio Portuguc;>c and thcnce into che vulgar tongue, — 
followíng the usual form tn diese books, which have ncaily all 
of them an original aiithor, — Arab, PorCuguesc, English, or other 
barbarían, — and a translaior. The Spanish versión did not 
appear iill 1511, and is dcscribcd by Gayangos as ciircniely 
unfaiihful and liiilc clsc than an abridgment, poorly cxecuied. 
Thc date of the composition of the book is givcn, by the author 
himsclf, «9 1460, so that it is probably carlier than any of the 
Spanish romances, eiccpitng che original Jmadii. Ii differs 

335 



Don Quixote 



esícniially fronn any othcr romance, and breathc» a ci 
forcigti tonc> showing how dJínnct wcre the proviacc* io 
thc Proven^l civilísatíon was prcscrvcd frora thc otbci i 
thc Península in thc fificcnth century. TKc spirit i 
refipcd. The society descrihcd is of a higher develop 






Casdlüa 



: Knigl 
their bedi 



—Provenga! s 
mannen more proflígate than in the Spinish a 
romances, The eiplaits of the héroes are n 
and !c9s marvellous than in any of che other r 
is, in fact, very little of chivalry in thc boolt. 
Cervantes says, " eai and sleep, and die i 
make their wüls beforc death." Thcy rcsort to science 
cunning, as well as to bruie valour and strength, using a 
and engines, as well as sworda and spean. There are no m 
and only onc small picce of magíc. Tirante himself it 
a skilful general than a valianc »oldier. Thcte is a seir-con: 
air and a distinct trace of humour in the stary, which maric 
the product of a !css simple and heroic age. Thc dres 
weapons, the habits and customs belong, indccd, to the £ft 
century, — but it is thc ñficenth ceotury of Provence, n 
Spain. A great pordon of the story is laíd in England. 
Prince of Wales, Guy Earl of Warwlck (Varoych), the 1 
of London, the Order of the Garter, are introduced, *' Lo ' 
de Lancasirc, lo Duch de Gloccstrc, lo Duch d'Attería ( 
Córate de Salasberi" figutc araong thc English leaden, 
hero, Tiranic, docs not appcar until thc plot is coDSÍdc 
advanccd. Thc dominions of thc King of Ecgland are in' 
by a vasc amiy of heathcn from the Great Canary, who Isy 
lo London. The unbelícvers succeed in obcaining posscssi 
thc English capital. The caatle of thc Earl of Warwick hi 
is bcsicgcd, aucb unchivalHc mcans beitlg uscd for iií reda 
as " bombardcs, balesies, colobríncs, e springardca." At It: 
Earl, afier incrcdibie effbrts, relieves bis cast!e and his cour 
the Piyntm host is dcfcated, and London rccovered. The 
of England, for joy, marrics thc daughtcr of the King of Fr 
and thc realm is given up to merry-making. At thc jouits 
tn honour of the weddíng. Tirante the Whítc appein^ and 

sil- 



Don Ouixote 



throwi various doughcy Knighis, aad teturns home to lead thc 
Gteek forcea against the Soldán of Babylon, Tíranie wini an 
casy victory, aftcr trcmendous slaughtct of the eitcmy, and rctums 
[O Constan ti nople, to be cngaged, aftcr scveral \ove afFairs and 
much amorous corres pon den ce, to the Emperor's daughleí, but 
dies of a plenrisy before the match can come off, after Icaving 
100,000 ducats personalty. I cannot understand what Scott and 
Southcy mean whcn they denounce Tirante for its proftigacy. 



The fon 
The latt. 









i brothcl." 
vith a book which implied so 
luthor." From this it ií cleat 
5f tead Tirante in the original. 
>tion of it from the pretended 



; of feeling in the 
r Scott ñor Southcy c 
Both must have derived theír i 
Frene h transí atíon by the Comte de Caylus, — which is no 
translation at ail, but an obsceno parody. In the original 
Vaicncian book therc is noihing impurc and very little that is 
impropcr, though much thac ia loóse. Cervantes' own opinión 
of the book, which, aftet a sorocwhat ambiguous scntcncc, he 
delibcraiely eiempied from ihc flamcs, is must judicious. A copy 
of thc original cdiiion of Tirant ¡o BUnth brought ¿605 at Barón 
Seilliire's sale. Thcre is a perfcct copy, long supposcd to be 
uniquc, forming parí of che Grenville Library in the Brítish 
Museum. There is one other, not so good, in thc Vatican Library. 
Thcre is an iniercsting note by Joseph Ritson, in his manuscrípt 
colleclion of Romances in the Biitish Museum, regarding Tirant 
h Blanch. The auihor, Juan Martorell, is said to have derived 
his English sccnes from a visit paid to Enghnd in the reign of 
Henry VI. He carne over ¡n 1415, in the suite of Dom Pedro, 
Duke of Coimbra, son of Joam I, of Portugal, and grandson of 
John of Gaunt. Dom Pedro was magnilicently cnieriained by 
the king'í úneles — Henry VI. being then a mínor — and madc a 
fcnight of the Garter, the cercmonies of which are described 
in the book in dctai!. The üght with the mastiS*, 10 which 
Cervantes refers ín Part 1. ch. vi., is supposed 10 have becn taken 
from an actual incideni which occurred Ín 1371, and is recorded 
in Monifaucon's jíi¡ii^uitit¡ ef Frunce. Tirante describes himself 
■ nativc of Brittany, deriving his namc from Tiranía ín that 
voL. 1 337 3í 



Don Quixote 



P 



dnchy, of «hicli ha hútet wai lord, vtd frota tus moCber 
Rioon ü tacl¡ii«d to belin-c tli»[ Mutarctl look his ch«T_ _ 
of ProÍM»n, which, wid» faú m:»i1 eipcrience of hígh lifi 

Entufa Coan, may hafe coRIribated to givc the book r 

and jn mote matul tone, whicb coatnsa to scrongl 
dui of ÜM romiacc* of p«re Caidlisn orieín. Tbe i 
Mmordl bu beca rer; mnch ptaiicd fot ia clegance ttad 
tsd indeed in readÍBg his book notr one b inclined i 
(Iwt a didect «o gncefál ud mcUifliuMs u tbc oíd Vm 
tliould have poned oat of liumnK, 

Thetc ii ■ very «re book c*1ted Ci/ir, deoling wi 
adventvtn of t Knight who carne w be King of "Mi 
«tich belongs to thii ctait, but, as it ti not mctirioi 
Cervantes, I wíll pus ii o»er, wiü» othen of ihc fatmly. 

CLASS ni.— THE CARLOVINGIAN ROMANCES 

The romances iocludcd under ihti bcad hj Gwm»\ 

those, neit to those of Aroadi:, most freqaeaily meatíoDi 
mo« coramonly nsed in Dm Qaixíte. They relace to ihi 
índ continest» of Chirlemagne and the eiploies of thc ' 
Pecfs, and are all foundcd upon the fabuloua CérmieJ^ ztu 
lo Turpin, or Tüpin, Archbishop of Rheíms. Ai thc 
Turpin died in 778, he could not have bcen thc author o 
Chronicle, wbich »pcats of events long after that date, 
best opinión is that ihe Chronicle styled Grita CarsJi 
v/as written by Pope Calixtas 11., who was elected to thc 
Chair in 1119, with a view to itimulate ihe crusade aguQ 
hcaihen, and especially to eitend the wonhip of the Apost 
James, bctter known at Santiago, in his shríne of Compo 
Thc Latín Chronicle ¡s a mass of improbable invcntioRs, 
buting 10 Charlemagne and hís Pecrs explotes such 1 
absolutely impoi&ible. It has served, howcver, as thi 
whcnce a grcat many romancisis, including Ariosco and I 
have drawn thcir mnerials. A Spanish versión of Ta 
Chronicle, with scvcral ncw lies added to luii the national 
wat wricien by Nicolás de Piamonte, uid pabliahed « S 

338 



Don Ouixote 



}. Thií was frcqucntly rcprintcd, and is probably thc 

ourcc whence the Spanísh CarlovingUn romances were 

The carlicsc and the most elabórate of thcse romances 

i the Eiptjo ie CaballtrUi, or Mirror of Chivilrics, trcaiing 

-. feats of Don. Roldan (Orlando) and Don Reynaldos de 

)n tal van. Of this ihere werc four parts, apparently by 

suthors, of which thc lirat was publishcd at Sevillc ¡n 

03- There is a sepárate series of romances, of whkh Rcynaldos 

ncipal hero, also in four parts. Thcre ¡s anocher book, 

■two parta, of which the giant Morgante ís the leading hero, — 

t sccond part being littlc else ihan a iransladon of Pulci'i 

ti-buricsque pocm of Morgante Maggiore. To chis cliu 

Bongs the curious book of Guarino Mejfkiao, writtcn originally 

1 by Andrea de Florencia, which ¡s includcd by thc 

inthor of che Diálogo dt la Lingaa (Juan Valdís) " among thc 

mosi lying of faoolts, of a stylc so vile that there is no good 

stomach which can stand the reading of them." 

Many of the tefereaces in Doa Qiiixetí to the Carlovingian 
héroes, — -to Orlando cspecially, — are meant to apply not to the 
knighis of the prosc romances, but to the personagcs in che poems 
of O ría» Jo Fu r i Ole and Orlando ¡nKamomlo, and a few to the 
Cari oviagian ball ad s . 

CLASS IV,— THE BRETÓN ROMANCES 

Thcse, though usually claimed as being the original stock 
whence all thc books of chivalrics were drawn, are of compar- 
ariveiy infrequenc mención in Don QuixoU. Merlin, Arthur, 
and Lancelot figure indccd among ihc héroes who influencc 
DoD Quiíotc's ictions, bul the Spanish books in which chcir 
adventures are dcscribed are but rarely mcmíoned, The oldeat 
now eiisting, and probably che carliesc in point of date, is El 
Baladro del Sabia Merlin, or, The Cry of the Sage Merlin,— the 
cry which he mtcred when dying, which was heard three leaguei 
off. This was princcd al Burgos in 149S, and is ■ translatíoD, 
Rccording to Giyangos, of an Italian book of the fourteenth 
KDtury. Láncelo! du Lúe vras introduced into Spain ¡o IJIJ, 
339 



Don Ou'xote 



nnder thc name of l,asz,ar«tt del Lagt, íd the Dem^más dt! Stxa 
Gria/i and Triitún át tianh, ac a vcry carly pcriod, uoiicr dtK 
name. Thc only truly Spaniíh hcro of this class oT roomica 
refcfred to by Ccrvanicj is TubUntt dt Ricamtitu, which mijrk 
laid to be a conneciíng link betwecn che Knights of tbe Ra«iÍ 
Tablc and thc Twelve Pee», as ¡t partakes of tbc cha^acter bo6 
of the Bretón and thc Carlovingitn boolci. 

Thc truth is chai the Bretón remanecí wcre never so popula 
in Spain aj thosc of indigcnaut growth. Aichur and JLaaceloc 
and TtJBtan wcre tcgarded as foreigncrs, while Amaüt b¿ 
Palmerin were natives. The deeds of the one maf have kiiuM 
the «pirit which led to the composición of thc other ; bnt m 
must make a dístinciion between the origin of the institiiEion rf 
chivalry and that of che liceracure of which it waa the iospintiaD. 
I am unable to hold with M. Baret ¡n hís ingcnious atCempt U 
prove that, whilc Amaáis is cssentially Spanish, the gcrm of cbt 
romance Jt forcígn, — that the themc hai becn imported fnim 
Planee, and ia thc íssuc of thc same spring whence cune thc 
romances of thc Round Table. The siacement that Ana^i and 
his family camc in thc suite of thc Provenga! litcraturc is certainly 
not borne out by the facts. The spiríc of the purely Spanñli 
romance is ctscntially distínct from that of thc Arthurían, aod 
ítill more so from thc Proven^al. Ic is true that Cervantes 
himself, through thc mouih of Don Quíxote, assigns to Kiog 
Arthur and his Round Tablc ihc origin of chivalry ; but chivali; 
ts one thing and chivalric romance another, ñor is cherc che lean 
proof of any connexíon between the román tic literature of Sptin 
of the fourieenth, fifteenth, and sixtecnth ccniuries, with tbit 
which took iii aource in Britiany two or thrce ccnturies carlicr, 
exccpc to fai as they are both the praduct of ihe ideas and feelinp 
which gave rise to chivalry. 

CLASS V.— MISCELLANEOUS ROMANCES 

There remain a fcw ocbcr romances, not lo be classilied in 

anyofiheBbovcordcrs,of unccriaincharacier. Some are founded 

OQ history, and wcre probably dcvcloped out of the baltads, sueh 

3+0 




Don Ouixote 



; of the Moor Abindarracz and thc Fsit Xarifa, 
which i» refcrred to in Den QuixoCe. Eíaraples of » putely 
imaginary romance, not connected wíth any of ihe great famiHes, 
are the history of Enriqui Fi (son) de Oliva Rty ái Hitrusalcm, ¡d 
which there is ■ characccr (Conde Tomillas) inentioned ¡n Dtn 
Qaixali, and the story of La Linda Magalona, which is a repro- 
duction of the oíd French Icgend of Fierre de Prsvtnce et la Bellt 
Magueknni, of the twelfth century. The chronícle of The 
Nine vf Fume (Los Nueve de la Fama), in which is included ihc 
Life of the cclebrated Bertiand de Guesclin, is probably also the 
íubject oían allusion in Den Quixele. 

Thesc scem to eihaust the nuniber of thc books of chivalrics 
which it was Cervantes' purpose to assail, because of their 
corrupting infiuence on the popular tasce and moráis. I have 
elsewhcre maintained that ic was not ihe composirion of romances 
of chivalry at which his satire was Icvclled, but against ihe bad 
and extravagant books whtch weie miiliiplied so enormously in 
Spain, in consequence of the success which waa achieved by 
Amadis, by Palmerin, and one or two others whose character and 
authority Cervantes certainly never intendcd to dcstroy — he 
llímtelf being a great reader and lover of romances of chivalry. 



Once 



Don Ou'xote 



jplaina, upon which ihe scrangcr ¡ntrociucca himself as Pcrion, 
g ofGauI (Waics), who has come Irom a far land to seek fot 
Soon iftcr a lion appears to rob ihem of a hart [hey 
I kilied, bm in a fight with Perioo Íi hímsclf slain. Thc 
g of Gaul is brought to the palace, and received thcrc with 
pitality. From the first moment she sees him Eliscna perccives 
r gtcat modesiy to be of no avaü, bcing taken with a great and 
Iturable love for the stranger King. Pcrion reciprócales, and 
n>ugh che ari of Darioleca, che Pnnccss's maid, Elisena and 
ate bfought logethcr. The rcsult is a son, callcd Amadis, 
clapt into a box and sent adrift on thc rivcr, wiih a wriÜDg 
his neck, " This is Aroadis, son of a King," and his ^thet's 
and ring. The boz ís catried out to sea, and is ñshcd up 
knight of Scodand called Cándales ; whose wife having been 
ivereii of a son, Gandalin, she is enabled to suckle thein 
Ainadis, called thc Child of the Sea from that advcntute, 
up in Scotland, At the age of sevcn, thc faity 
inda having appeared mcanwhilc to Cándales and propheaied 
J fostcr-son's gicatness, Amadis is taken up by Languincs, King 
I Scotland (who is mairíed lo his auiti), and educaied in his 
I logether with Gandalin, his foster-brothef, afterwards his 
Iquire. Meanwhile thc fatliet of EHscna dies, and Penan goes 
over to make hcr his gocen, not bcing told anyching of thc bitch 
of theii son Amadis. Another son Ís born to them, Galaor, who, 
whcn a child, is catried off from his nurse by a giant, Gandalac, 
who turns out to be " not so wicked as othcr giants," with a 
cetiain lutn cven fot pious woiks, sccing that he " ¡leoples an 
iíland with Christians," and sea a hennit over thcm, with wfaom 
Galaor is Icft to be brought up. 

The story teturns lo ihe Child of the Sea, who grows in grace 
and stature till at tweive he look» like fifCccn. Meanwhile, 
King Falingriz of Grcat Britain having died, thc chicf men of 
thc land send fut his brothcr, Lisuaric, to be King; which 
Lisuartc has a wife, Briscna, and a daughter, Oriana, born in 
Denmatk, the faircst cteatutc evet seeu, iherefore called Si» fiar 
(pcerless}. On hís way to take possessíon of his throne, King 
Lisuartc and family stop with King Languines of Scotland, with 
343 



Don Ouixote 



whom Oriana, " bccausc ihe suffercd much at sea," i» Icft lo be 
educated. Líiuirte havíng gone away to Great Brítain, bccmu 
thc best King tliat had bccn, ñor did íny odc bctici 
chivalry til] King Arthur rctgncd, who in goodnc» excelled lU 
kings bcforc him. Amadís ¡erved Oriana, and, as wcit » be 
loved her did shc lovc him, though, not Itnowing of his birtli.bc 
darcd aot apeak orit. Amadis, though süll young, it fteÍECdwÍ¿ 
thc idea of bcing knighted, and k sene by King LaQguIna M 
King Perion, as one by wHom ihii honour should best be eCB- 
fcrrcd. Mcanwhilc, Cándales, hearing oí Amadis' msh, lend»! 
daascl wiih [he sword, tbe ñng, and thc Icttcr which hid ben 
faund on him when an ¡nfiínt, to King Languine*' Conit 
Perion iinight! him, noi knowitig him lo be his sotí, and is Tocned 
by AmadÍ9 from ccriain díscouricouí Knighis who assail biiik. 
Amadis pcrfonns othcr services for hit fathcr, slayicg his eaeatf, 
King Abics of Ireland, whosc limbs wcrc lilcc those of a giant. 
Then he is made known to his faiher and moiher. King Períoa 
summons a Parliament that all might see his son Amidis. 
Hearing how hit broiher Galaor had becn carrícd away by 1 
giant, Amadis resolvcs to go to hís rescuc, so saÜs to a gr>odlj' 
City in Grcat Britain, called Bristoya (Briitol), whei 
chat King Lisuarte is st Vindilisora (Windsor). Mcanwhilc, 
Galaor, under charge ofthe hcrmit, had grown large-limbcd and 
itrong, so ihai he desires lo become a Knight and slay some onc 
In vain does the hermit coQnscl him to "seck some othcr V 
safer for his soul." On his way to Lisuaclc's Court lo be kníghted, 
Galaor meets his brothcr, Araadis, — thcy not knowing ctch 
Other, — and struck with Amadis' valour against cerlaín villnn 
Knighis, resoivcs to be knightcd by him, which ia done ; aad he 
starts on advcntiircs on his own account, slaying giants and 
rescuing damscls, but not behaving so continenily to thc latter 
as might be wishcd. The adventurcs of the iwo brothers and 



in, Agrajes, now con 
ing to follow their aevcral c 
common sort of advcnture is c 
career, when, " after hearing 
Gandalin only, from King Lí 



ic thick and fast, and it is perpleí 
lurses. A good samplc of a vcry 
ne which happcns carly in Amadit' 
mass," he sen om with his squire 
suarte's Court. Riding Ehrmigh ) 
344 




kciL, be mects a lady wiih two daiDscIs and four aquires, and a 
r wiih ihcm, atl loudly tameniing. Asking whac ihey have 
he litter, Aniadis U told it is a woundtd Knight, the lady's 
nband, who has bccn atiackcd by a Knight who kceps a bridge 
rj cnemy to King '^isuartc. Arnadis resolves to 
de; on rill he comes to the brídge and sees the 
tables" wiih another. The usual colloquy 
[change of hard words, they givc spurs to 
r each othcr with their lances. The 
s unlaced, and, while adjusiing it, he rcccives 
ord, which he rcquiíes with one on the sidc 
t the other's head dangling upon his breut. 
" Now," said he, " go tcll your lady what yon have scen," Riding 
on, he comes to a plain, fair and wide, and \s deÜghted with the 
grecn gtass he tees on all sídes. Presently cherc comes up an 
ugly dwarf, who is asitcd whether he has secn a young Knight 
callcd Galaor. He saya no, but will taltc Araadís wherc he will 
sec the bcst Knight in the world. Amadis is attacked by threc 
Knights at once, whom he defcats, Icaving only onc (o escape with 
his life. Then they go on til! thcy come to an enchanted eastle, 
which is the abode of Arcalaiia the Enchantcr, who is Araadií' 
great cncroy. Amadis coniríves not only to escape from his 
wiles, but to reléase many there held captive, and comes jutt in 
time to rescuc his faithful squire, GandaÜn, who ts tied to a post, 
and the dwarf, who is hanging by the leg from a beam over a firc 
«r stiaking smote, At last Arcalaus himself comes out, in che 
shape of one of the largcst Kníghts in the world, upon a luíty 
couTscr, and a furious cncountcr ensues. Arcalaus, getting the 
worst of it, tutns to fly, and is pursucd by Amadis, but, raising his 
sword to strike, he is enchanted, and loses ihe strength of his 
limbs, and íalls to the ground like a dead man. Then mounting 
upon the horse of Amadis, Arcalaus rides to the Coort of Lisuarte, 
and sprcads a rcport of Amadis' dcath, over which Oriana makes 
great laraentaiion. But Arcalaus has a wifc, of a dísposition 
conirary to her husband's, who takes the spcll off Amadis, where- 
upon Amadis rclcascs his squire and many oihers of the magician's 
_prÍsoneri, onc of whom rcturní to Court and proclstms thac 
3+5 



Don Ouixote 



r*Mi#4a:6N^ 



I bf kr itttde Jübtót. Bi^'fedSé he c» adke te 

r pwt, hr tij^B ■ fnrioB b«de trok s& BBknoKV g-jf^- «fe 
; to be kn bfotker Galsoe, ilso benc 
Tbeii añer mort aárentun» thcr all tide co Coon, aad ■ gnR 
H (be jeneral deñre to wse tbem Mnoag tbe populace af Lonik^ 
iluí (I1C7 can Miarccly mikc wiy tlinNigh ilie urceo. Tlmeii 

■ pitheiic icene u thc poUce between üic nra loren, Oiñu 
I «Momig btm tlut thc onijr deiÍT«* co Itvc íbr hini. Mcttiilñlb 
|, 1^ daiDKU ulk af thc cwo btothen, tod how Gfxl bad 

1 bcautifal ai brave and gocxi, G«taor, they ^tm^ ghf, M 
the fairer complexión, — Amadü tbe tnoie Mogalne viiage, widí 
hair cnip and rtd. Thcn the Kin^ fbr jo]r of the ckcsómi, beU 

■ grní Pailiunent (Ctrtri) ¡n Loodon, ai tfaar time a city wlüdi 
" loppcd all Chriítendom likc an caglc," in order to give ocdñ 
sboui ihingí of chivalry, and 10 atk chem whac be tbonld éo Mv 
that he wai II Ihe hcíghl of his praivesi. But Arcallas, ifce 
lubile enchimcr, liyi a ptot by wbich he gcca King LÜBirte ímb 
hit pawcr, clapping him ínto the ttrong dtingeoR of D^aae), 
whilc Orianí i» led away to hij own castle ai Moont Aldín. 
Whcn Amadis and Gilaor hear ihe news they are gremdj Si- 
ircMed, ftariing ai once to their relíer. Amadia rcKttca bit 
miitiM*, afier miny advennircí, and Galaor, the Kjag. The cttf 
of London ii relicvcd of thc preicncc of che usiuper 
wbo ú caughi in the Towcr and bumt, togethcr with ArcaUvi' 

> eouiiii. Amadií, having a littlc time on hi; hands, now goet » 
' perfotra his promiscd Bcrvicc for thc fair BrioUnia, whicb h 
occasion of grcat mischicf, and leads up to che principal cpbode 
in hií history a» a lovcr. From thc first it is clear that Oríacn 
givct Amadií leavc (o go upan this scrvicc wiihout much alacñty. 
— noi being particularly xealous in rcspcct of hii perfomiÍJig 
wh»t he promiicJ 10 thc fait Bñolanía. This sntouldcr rf 
jcaloiiiy ii blown inio a flamc by ccrtain idle words of Amadií' 
dwirl, whu makcs Oriana belicvc ihat it is fot lovc of Briolanta 
ihtit Atnidii i* undctlibing ihii cncerpríse. Oriana givcs way ra 



hucting her heart so chai no ceir could 

:hful words oí her 

be faithless. Meanwhile, anothcr 

discovercd, — Florcstan, — who disclosM 




lal way aTcer a Üglit with Galaor. Amadis 

nself depares on his balde againsc Abiaeos, and slays him and 

■ soni, and resiores Briolania Co her kingdom. [Herc thcre is 

erpolated ihe passagc we have rcfcrred to eUewhere, where 

: bjr hcr lovc for Amadis, insUts upon his 

EDming it, which he does, by specíal request of a. Prince of 

, who persuades thc author to do thia wrong to the 

mtation of the chastc knight — with thc result that Oriana is 

; for jcalousy.) Presently Galaor and 

n join Amadis at the Court of Sobradisa, where therc are 

t rejokings ovet the leturn of Briolania. Here cnds the 

¡t Boolt of Amadis. 

e Second Book opens with an account of the I«ie/a Firme, 
(lich pisys 3o conspicuou9 a part in the after history of Amadis, 
«od bccomcs a refuge when he is in trouble and out of favour at 
Court (noi lo apeait of this bcicg thc original of thc insu/a pro- 
miscd by Don Quinóte to his squire Sancho Pama). The /djs/ii 
Firme (so-ca)Ied bccause it was almosi an island, and nearly terra- 
firma, bcing scparatcd from the mainland only by a narrow ncck 
of rock) was only seven ícagues by five wide, but so strong by 
□ature and art as to be a kingdom as wcü as a fortresa in icself. 
Thcre is a minute account of how a very wise Prince, ApoÜdon, 
gavc up the Empire of Constan t i nople to líve retircd on thi» 
iiUnd, where he built himself a lordly pleasure-house, which 
was also a palacc of art. Among other slrange rurniturc in this 
palace was an archway at the entrancc, over which was placed 
the iroagc of a man in copper, holding a trumpct to his mouth, 
decTceing that no man or woman should be able to pass ihrough 
who had been faUe to iheir lir&i love, for against thcm the imagc 
should blow so dreadful a blait with smoke and flamea of üre that 
ihey shall be stunncd and ín dangcr of dcath. In proccss of lime 
Apolidon came co be Emperor of Constantinoplc, leaving his 
iiiítU Firme and his treasurcs to be cDJoyed by any Kníght who 

347 




:ek Ortaaa far bis bride. Amadíi goes awi^, snd 
Ung Gandalin, his squirc, che slip, entera the wildcst pire of 
p mouniains, whcrc he meets i holy man, to whoni he confesses. 
e holy man tries to lurn him from his purptwe of forsaking the 
prld, declaring that if all che beauty and wealth of the ochcr 
; brought togeihet in onc pcrson, such a man as Amadií 
oc to be lost foT hcr ; but he ii ultimately pcrsuaded to 
and gives Amadis the ñame of Belleneirst, 
leing conformable to hta appearance and distress, meaning che 
- Forlont, ot che Beautiful Darkling. And Amadia remains 
• Ptña Pobre, or Poor Rock, doing penance, and afflícting 
himíelf for grief of his lady's cruclty. Meanwhiic Amadis* 
dwarf has gone to Oríana, and told her how thac Amadis 
had gone into the mountains to die, whereat she repents 
and mates greac lamentation. Guilan the Pcnsivc, one of 
Amadis' frícnds, linds his shield and armour and carries ihem to 
Lisuaite's Court. Whíle Amadis is away ¡n retirement, ihere 
comes a sirange Knight to the King wíth a cartel of defiance on 
the part of Famóngomadan, the gianc of the Boilíng Lake, and 
some of his men, who will only be appeased by Oriana being 
given up to be servant of Madásima, the said giant's daughcer. 
All this causes che Court to make great effbrts lo bring bock 
Amadis, who is eventually peisuaded to abandon his hcrmit life 
■nd lo resume arms and return lo Court, Coming lo Miraflores, 
a suburb of London, where Oriana is, he encountcrs and over- 
throws severa! enemies on the road, besides two or three giants 
of the brood of Famóngomadan, whosc bodics were so big chac 
chose who laid thcm on the waggon had co bend their knees. 
At night he is admitced over the garden-wall into whcrc they 
spend three days ín the joys dearer than those of Paradisc. On 
their way to London in company they encounter Arcalaus, ihe 
cnchancer, with a giant, whom Amadis slays, cutting off also part 
of Arcalaus' hand. Then there comes ihe great battic between 
the gi»"" and Lisuartc's Knighti, which is onc of che most 
terrible and stirring ¡n the book. Eventually the Knights win 
the victory, mainiy through Amadis' single arm, though his 
brocher Gtlior is sevuely woundcd and btoughc away for dead. 
349 






"'"«'■"...ir" 

•ad, "."•"Sir. 
°'™"", ,1 "°°% 

C>n,;„ ■""«oven, 

"■"'■■cJ,;. I"""*"». 

°""' «">./, ,i' •?=«. », 

"■ '-"VlTÍ Í"*-'M4° 



. Don Ouixote 



I pcoplc can kill by thcmsclvcs. Amadi: lands juit ia 

ic h)s brothcc Galaor uid his friend King Cildadan, 

I besEt b; 3 greac crowd. At ihis moment ihe gíaní comes 

huge hoise, and in his hand a spear »a heavy ihal no 

:oald Itfl il, crying oul agatnic his people bccausc ihcy 

iill two weaty and worthless Knights, The giant mccls 

! usual Tale of men of ihis larger sort, but his lifc is sparcd 

of hi» son, Gasquilan, who is of modérate staturc and of 

rate mind. Bui he has a sister, Andandona, who ia thc 

and worst giantess ¡n the worM and » great cncray lo 

na, who lies in wait bchind aoroc ihick woods along aa 

■he sea, ind cas» dartí ai Amadia and hií friends as ihey 

They ihink, clothed as she is wiih bear-skins, she is some 

hen íhe takes to the water to swim lo thc land, they 

I hcr wiih arrows, but she runs away quickly ihrough the 

With the shaftí in her shoulder.so that ihey cannot forbear 

Arriving in King Períon'i country, ac a lown in Gaul 

Mostrol, Amadis and Galaor presen! thcmselves bcforc 

ents and are joyfully received ; as well zs hy cheír sístcr 

betwccn whom and Don Bruneo de Bonamar there are 

;tty scenes of love. Thc scene changes to the Court of 

where Oriana, her time being come, givea birth to a son, 

: breasl are <Ü seo ve red certain Latin Icttcra in whitc and 

letters in red. The confidante MabiÜa, taktng the child 

58 [hrough a thick wood whcrc lions and other wild 

breed, and being frightencd by onc of the former, drops 

rden, which is picked up by a lioness and carried to her 

food. But by God's providence there is a holy man at 

me Nasciano, who bids the evil beast leave this creature 

Upon which the lioness lays the babe at hÍ9 fcct and 

Nasciano, apparentty noc being good at nurung, com- 

the lioness to fccd the child like her own cubs, which thc 

does i and so the infant, thc son of Amadis and Oriana, ii 

whosc ñame thc white letters on his brcast revcal to 

plandían- Thc subsequcnt history becomes for a time 

and unintcrcsting, There i» a great war bctwcen 

■nd the Knighu of ibe Amadis faclioD in ihe island 

35" 




""ir K,r '^•'«iO of ,1 




ida, whose amorou; wiles he rcsUcs, and u lengih, ifcer 

■ly two yearí' sbience, mceting wich onc of hia oíd friends, 

índuced to tcturn lo Gieat Briíain, whetc he hears dis- 

Lg Lisuarle has been pcrsuaded tO give hÍ3 

r, Oriana, in lairriage to El Patin, thc Emperor of Rome, 

great enemy. Under ihe ñame of " The Gteek Knight " 

idis (ighcs and vanquishcs ihe Román champions. Returning 

Island, he gathcn a forcc cogether to intercepc thc 

ships whkh are laking Oriana to Rome, under the escori 

iquidio, the Emperor's cousin. Oriana Í3 lescued and 

ihe Firm Island, 

ourth Book opens with thc preparations for the grcat 
which is (O be wagcd between Amadis and h¡9 alÜes on Che 
tidc, and King Lisuartc with ihe Emperor of Rome and all 
fbrcei. The individual exploits of Amadla are, to a greai 
eiicnt, lost and absorbed in the mighty arrangements which are 
bcing made on both sides for thc duel, which is to decide thc 
tate ol" uriana. A grcat asaemblage of warriors takcs place in 
thc /ajf/d Fim^, whithcr go King Perion of Gaul in aid of hii 
sOD, and thc Emperor ofConstaniinoplc, with üie King of Bohemia 
bod)' of strangcr Knights. Thc Emperor of 
1 Grcat BHtain to succour King Lisuarte, 
the King of Sweden and the King oí Ireland. 
bcing arraycd against each othcr, Arcalaus thc 
his opportunity, and summons Aravigo, the 
me forth with all thosc who hatcd Liauartc 
e, in ordcr that, while these two were cngaged 



with whor 
Thc two i 

pretender, 
and Amad! 



in batile, they might win London and che kingdom for themsclvc 
A greai battle ensues in the neighbourhood of Windsor, which 
laíls for severa! days, in which many bravc feats are done on 
both sides. The pariy of Amadis ia in thc ascciidant, buc at 
ihe momcnt of victory Amadis rcstraias his Knights, not caring 
to prcss Lisuarte too hard, especially now that the Emperor of 
Rome, hti rival, has bcen kíUed. Now it enters into the head 
of Nasciano, the holy man who has brought up Esplandian, to 
make peacc between the two, and to use the son of Amadis as 
f/een him and his grandfathcr, Lisuarte. Thc 



353 



aj 



Don Quixote 



I 



wcrcí of E*pl*Bcfixn'i binli i% nade luwini lo tbe Kiag, wko h 
dbpoKd to be bidMÜT to Amadi*. MeonwltiU^ Aiwiga «nd tk 
tliird F«rt; nnáer Arcalini, wbo hid beca tj'iiig htd tn a wood, 
lo obterre ilie atae of the bulle benreen tbe King aad Amadis. 
togetlier with Baninuí wad tbe Dake oT Bmtol aod ochen, make 
• laddcn atuck on Loadon and verj ncarly mccccd. Lisiune 
a pntoncr, Amadi* and his Kaightt go to tbe loccotir of tht 
King, who ii rcscned fVom his enemie). And then a torm*] 
reconciliation is oude. The nu^ab of Amadií and Oiíibi 
are celebrated with greai pomp in the Ftmi Island, whtCbcr 
King Lituartc and Qaccn Briicna rcpair in all itate ; and *o^ wiih 
peace and haraiony, cndj ibe story of Amadii. 

(Thii venioD of the (tory of Amadií, and atl the refercBcet 
to Aniadi) tbroughout thit work, are based on che edidon of 
.1ma¿¡s dt GaaU, contained in ifae Libra it CahalUries of Pascual 
de Gajangoi. Madrid, 1857.) 



APPENDIX C 



THE FAMILY OF AMADIS 



Thb following table, showing the genealogy of the race of 
Amadís of Gaul, will be found of help to the reader in following 
the conrse of the family histoxy : — 

Perion, King of Gaul 



r 



Florestan 



Florisandro 
(VI. Book) 



Amadís of Gaul 
(I. to IV. Books) 



ESPLANDIAN 

(V. Book) 



I 
LiSUARTB 

OF Grbecb 

(VII. and VIII. Books) 

Amadís of Grbece 
(IX. Book) 

I 



Galaor 



Perion of Gaul 
(VII. Book) 



I 



Flores 
OF Greece 

(The Knight 
of the Swan) 



Anaxartbs 



Silvbs 

DE LA Selva 
(XII. Book) 



Florisel op Niquea 

(X. Book) 



I 

Agesilao 
de Colchos 
(XI. Book) 



Rogel 
OP Greece 

(XI. Book) 

ESPERAMUNDI 
(Xin. Book) 



355 



Felixmartb 
OP Grbecb 



APPENDIX D 

EL PJSO HONROSO,- OR THE HONOURABLE P« 
SAGE OF ARMS, HELD BY THE KNIGHT SDERI 
DE QUIÑONES 

Thb hiítory of E! Paie Hinrtia, t f*mou( tournuneat heU A 
(he biidge of Orbigo, near the city of León, m 14.34, wi 

origioally compiíed at grcat length, in the form of a diwy, t 
Pedro Rodríguez Delena, the chronielcr, who was prcscni. 
WB5 afierwards faithfully abridged by Fr. Juan de Pineda, whici 
abridgmeni was lirst publishcd ai Madrid in 15S8. Ii hi 
sincc bccn reprintcd, as an appendit, in the Chronicle of Do 
Alvaro de Luna, forming the fifth of the collcction of the anciei 
Spanish Chronicics printed by Sancha in 1784. As the i 
solemn and importanc of all the chivilríc functions ever hel 
in Spain, in the age whcn chivilry was in its vcry prime, u 
as an event frequently referred lo as (he greaí preceden! in 
ciemplar of kníghtly usage, I have thought it right to givc n 
rcaders a brief account of this most curioua and chanctemri 
transaction, summarised from the Chronicle of Pineda. 

In the lyth year of Don Juan H., King of Castile uid Leoí 
and in che year 1434 of Our Lord, ihcre was held, at tbc intcuc 
of Suero de Quifiones, a Knight of CastÜe, at the bridgc ( 
Orbigo, in the prescnce of the King and of his Cour 
of Arras, which enduted for thirty daya, commcncing on the l< 
of July* The said Suero de Quiñones, wíth nine ocher Knighi 
—fijtiitlgt í dt limpia tangTt. ttáas nn ntts i* érmai »iñ 1 
356 



Don Quixote 



(gcnclcincn and of purc blood, 
rcproach) — wcrc the Dcfcnders' 
Manui¡eá«rts), the ñames of the nine beii 
of ihe toyal house oíNavtrre ; Diego de B: 
Ai.*aro de Quiñones ; Sancho de Ravaní 



li of coat armour withouc 

Lope de Esiufíiga, 
l; Pedro de Nava; 

id Lope de Aller 



(lil:innen to Suero de Quiñones) ; Diego de Benavides 
Los Ríos; and Gómez de Vülacorta. To Suero Quiñones and 
to these nine companions of his, upon a petítion raadc by them, 
was granted the royal lícence to dcfend and maititain the Paio 
Henroso against all comers, according to the law and usagc of 
chivalry. The petición of Quiñones setí forth how that, it being 
just and reasonable that they who are captive should dcsire their 
liberty, he bcing for a long time vassa] to a lady, and having 
borne round his neck ín sign thcrcof a chain of iron, seeks his 
delivcrancc, which he has üxcd in the brcaking of three hundred 
lances on the pan of himself and his companions, with. any of 
gentie birth who may come against ihem within the spacc of 
thirty days. The King, having consulicd with his bigh officers, 
gave the líccncc bcsought, of which a herald made pfoclimaiion 
accordingly. The Knight Suero de Quiñones then presentid 
himself, and, thanking his Majesiy, he and his compinionj, 
hanging their armour for civil clothing, took thei 



which were read out the articjcs 
lo be fought, according to the 
Thcy wcrc twenty-cwo jn 
■ry detall of the equipment of 
rith the nature of the engage- 
lunterfl, the conditions of the 
victory or defeat were to be 



dance in the King's hall 
under which the jousts were i 
enierprisc he had undcrtaken. 
numbcr, going minutely into cv 
the ehallengcrs and challenged, 
meni, the manner of ihc ene 
ñght, and the rales by which 
decidcd. 

The first article sets forth what it is that Suero de Quifionei 
and his band have undertalten to do, which is, to have ihree 
hundred Unces, aimed with stecl, broten in harnc» of wir, 
wichout shicld or targct, with no more than a double fold of 
armour in each pan. 

The second provides, on the part of the Maintainers or 
Defender*, armour, hortes, and luicei for all itranger Knight* 
357 



Don Ouixote 




wif or • 



o joM M her bekiH: dUI farfüc kx i^te-lMd (foR. 

TW iñk H, dat if t>o 1 
•ay hdjr'* ^ofc, ikc fine cbbct ik 

Tlw údi », tbt a Kxí^ MC bring vei%, I 
wiit w< le ta«c a Wj** ^o«c SHt Mt be alkvrad «a ds ■ 
■Mil tlmlaaca kFc been farakca wñhhüs. 

Tbe teMBih u, dtti Sacra Qvfaocs iMI mBCoBhfao 
wcnau ihrtc bdio, Mt tadndtiif the htij w lAooi be bd««e 
amd thmt totheint Kaig^i «Aa tlwll nccecd in re>cm«( 
^ove oToDC of tbcm be wiU prc a «tfTWond. 

Tbe eigiub praridei tbu oo Ejii^ iluD be «Hawai n fc 
wjtb wboB rt i* be jootu, anñl tbe coune h complned, — bi 
utwcd of tbii, bowever, tbat be wQ] eocoanier qodc bai ira 
KsighU aixl geDClemen of anoi, niÜMat reprooch. 

Tbc ninüi gíveí thc pttvilege M injr Ku'^it, ifta breakíh 
hii ibrec lincct, Eo challenge aoy one fae wiibcs, if duc i 
aIIow, ind bréale ■nocher lance witb him. 

The icnib givc» leavc lo taj Knight to poi offtaj picce c 
afmouf of ihcnc a»igned to bim, if bis tcqucu be made in ÚM 
■nd in teaion. 

Tbc clevcnib obligci evcry Knigbt-adventiitcr to sajr wha b 
ii ind whencc he com», bcfore joniting. 

The twelfth engagej on the pan of Quillones to providc tila 
evcry woundcd Kiiight ihall reccive proper ireanneni. 

The üiirtcench givcs »«urance to iny Knight who shaU fe 
the beticr of any of the Matntainen, ihai nevcr will Mtiifitctiai 
or revenge be »oughi of him by any of them or by their reladre 
or frieiidi. 

The founecnih alJowa free paiiage to tho«c who are 
on (he pilgrimage to the ihrine of Santiago (the road to whid 
3S8 



Don Ouixote 



[ being hindered by 

i chat any Knighi goíng oS ihe direcc 
5 defended, shall eiiher run a course or 
rms, or hÍ3 right spur, under penalty 
□r th«t spur again, until he shall win 
3 pcrilous, or gieater ihan thit wkere 



pa$sed over the bridge of Orbigo) wiihou 
ihc Kttights-Maincaincrs. 

The fifteenth stipulat 
road to come to the pa: 
give up some pan of hij a 
of never wearíng that wm 
tt back in a deed of arins i 
he left it. 

The sixtccnth engagcs ihat should any Knighc of his party 
kill the horse of an advcrsary. He (Suero de Quiñones] will tec 
the loss madc good ; and if that any of the opposite faction 
shall kill a horse of his — basItU ¡a fcaUad del incutntrii for faga 
(leí the foulness of the deed go for recompense). 

The sevcntecnth provides that if any Knight shall attack the 
horíc of his opponent, his opponent striking him anywhcre on 
his armour, ic shall count for s lance lost by the lirst, for the 
foulness ol'the attack on the horsc. 

The eighicenth stipulates that if any Knight, after breaking 
onc or two lances, shall of his own will wijh to deiist, he shall 
be aüowed to do so on forfeiting some piece of his armí or his 
right sput. 

The nineteenth underiakes that swords and lances shall be 
piovided foi all ihose of the kingdom who ín armour and on 
horscback desire to run a course ; ii being forbidden to them to 

The twenticth is, that if any lOiight is wounded Ín the ttial 
on the lirst or second course, so that he ís unable to bear arma 
again that day, the Maintainers shall not be bound to mcet him 
anothcr day, evcn if he should dcmand another trial. 

The iwenly-first provides that tvro judges, oíd and provcd 
Knights, shall be appointcd, with the heralds, to admiDistcr to 
ftll who come to the trial a solemn oath that they will ibide by 
all that i« ordered ín regard to the said jousis. And che judgc 
and hcraldi shall likcwisc take an oath to protect them from 
ircachcry, and lo judgc truly, according to the rule and right 
of arms. And if any question shall arisc on any matier not 
providcd for by these rules, it shall be at the discretion of the 
359 



Don Quixote 



jud^s lo decide upon it. And ihc hcnMs thall stgnify to anj 
onc dcm«nding of chem th« which truly ihey may havc found 
ihem lu h»vc schicved. 

The iwenty-iccond «nd l»t condítion stípulatC! that lh( 
Iidy to whom Suero de Quinoitcs himsclf bclongs, should ihe 
pa» thac way, ihall not be subjcct (o lote her ríghc glovc, and 
that none shall jouít on her account eiccpt he himself, "«cctDg 
ihai in all ihc world ihcrc is nonc who is truly able to do ii but 

To thcic articlc), solemnly icad out in ihe King') hall. Suero 
de Quiaones addcd a letter on híi own pare to the LÍon Kiag 
at Arm», tecicing the citcumstances undcr which this passige of 
arms is held ; how ihii, bcing ihc ihrall of his noble lady, he ii 
unablc Eo rcdcem himielf from che penance he has laid on him 
on her iccciunt uniil threc hundrcd lances havc been shivered; 
how that, (hcrefore, he bciccchcs all those who love their ladici 
10 come to his succour, to reléase him his vow, — prayitig all 
Kings Dukes, and Princcs to suffer ihcir Kntghts and gcntlemen 
to come lo help him m thU purpose. 

DurÍDg sil monthi wcrc thc prepiraiions made for this greal 
and famoui pisiage, — thc Cortes solcmnly roting thc money 
rei]uircd to cover thc «pense, and proclamation of thc intended 
jouiis bcing madc thioughout al! Christcndom. Thc accooni 
of thc elabórate construciíoni needed to supply thc üsts, the 
ilagct providcd for thc audicncc, and the scafiblding for the 
barricn, filis a largc space in the oíd Chroniclc. The descripñon 
of thc armamcnt, the devicei «nd colours borne by thc sevcial 
Knight^ is told with no lesi breadth and onciion. On the 
Sunday before the opening of thc function. Suero de Quifiooes 
■nd his ninc comrades go to hcir carly mass ¡n the chutch of 
San Juan, and afterwsrds ͻuc forth to thc public in all their 
bravery, — Quiñones on a powerful chargcr with cap^ritoru of 
blue bordcrcd wíth hís famous devicc, — on the lop of cach device 
being the legend, Ilfaul áiUhirtr, in the French language. He 
is cloihcd in an outer jerkin of olive velvet, with bluc cmbroi 
He wctn scarleí Italian breechcs, and a tall scarlet 1 
Italian ipun with rowcit richly gilt, in his hand a e 

360 




Icgcni]. He bore, says the chronicler, his icg » 
with a vcry bcautifu! coniinence (íí» muy f(r 
Behind hira rodé ihree piges on thicc very handsomc horses, ill 
dicsscd to match, — one carrying oa his hcad i hclmet, from the 
top of which wcnt out a great golden tree with grecn leavcs and 
golden applcs, at the foot of which waa a grccn serpcni, like 
ihat which ted Adam to sin, and in ihc middlc of the trec a 
nakcd sword, leltercd : Le vray ami. Before Suero de Quifíones 
went his nine companions, one behind the othct on horseback, 
all in scarlet and gold. IÍke their leader, with his devíce— // 
fast áclibirtr — worked on the trappings of their horses. In 
advance of thcm, iwo Isrgc and bcautifu! horses drew a car filled 
with lance» and stout sword:i of Milán, of thrcc siícs. On top 
of the lances were trappings, blue and grecn, cinbroidercd with' 
ihe flowcring oleander, on cach trce of which was the figure of a 
parrot, and on the top of all a dwarf who drove the car. In 
front of all rodé the King's trumpeters with those cf the Knights, 
with kettledrums and cyrabals conducted by the judgc, Pero 
Barba, Around the captiin (Quiñones) marchcd maiiy Knights 
on foot, gome of whom led their horses by the bridles. In such 
bravc guise did Suero de Quiñones and his brethren make ibeir 
entry Ínto the lists. Aftcr taking two tums round, he, with 
his companions, haltcd in front of the scatTold whích had been 
erccted for (he two judges, and there made their requcst, ihat 
wilhout regard to fVicndship or lo enmity thcy should judgc of 
what was done, making the arms cqual for all, and giving to 
cach ihc honour and glory he should merit by his valour and 
addrcss ; and thai they should protcct the strangcr Knights, so 
that, in assailing one of the Defender: of the Honourablc Pass, 
he should not be attacked by others, other than the one with 
whom he jouíted. The judges proinised lo do all this, After- 
wards, ihere «rose * distingiiished genileman, Don Juan de 
Pimente), and prayed that i( anyching happcned to Suero de 

— 361 



Don Ouixote 



f' Q'ñfiaact *o Üut he UMald be noable to finüh hii cntcq>TÍK, 

I W kinuelf mi^t be okca in lu* place. So pxued the &»i 

itaj, to tfae dcligíii of ihc peoplc, ia ihowi and complimenn. 

Ob ütc BCXE ó»Y ihc lii» wcTC Cúrl;^ opeoed for bfuinm, 
aad aficT the jodgn hkl intpccicd the weapant aod tn &M i M ed 
thc laacci, w tbaí the; migbt be of ctjual Icogth for ckIi fá 
oí jomicn, thc bmiacu of the Pau fairtf begm, by tfae pDt- 
loirwits CTfing oat, Legtrtí tUtr, kgtrtí aUir, i fár s»a it^ 
(Lmjtr 4ÍUr, Uáutr alUr, rt fain m Jrftir). Thc first connc 
mu wat beiween Saera de Qniñoaes and a Germán Knighi wrho 
^ clme 10 cali himtcir, or ís kere callcd, Miccr Ainaldo de b 
Florata Bermeja (Hcn ArnoM of thc Red Forat). They weie 
eqoally miicheJ in age. Qulfionei beiag cwenty-five and ihc 
Germán twentr-icveti ¡ and rao six carects, brcaking the reqiññte 
three lance:, witbout much othex damage to either, — Quifioaei 
tnritiag the Germán lo iopper when it «as all over, 

It wqdM be tcdioui to {allovr thc counc of thc namrire 
through all the basiness of thírrr daji. It i* enoagh to i*y thit 
by genera] acknowledgment ihis was the most iplendid and 
famous toumament cver hcld ín Earopc, not ■ mere «tale 
ceremonial or royal pageant. On the luí day of the jouits. 
Suero de Quifiono and eighc of hí; compaaioo» (one of tbc 
Defender?, Lope de Allcr, being dangerously woundcd and in 
bed) took the field in thc same ordcr and solcmnicy as an ihe 
□pening day, and coming beforc the judgcs' scacs. Suero de 
Quiñones made an oratíon, in which after declaríng thac bii 
vow had becn accamplished, for three hundred lances had bees 
spiintercd, he prayed thetn to deliver him from his penance 
of weíting his iron collar oa Thursdays, asking lo he told tf 
thcte rcmained yet anything to be done by him in satistaction 
of thc clairos of honour. To him thc judgct responded that 
thcy hcld his vaví [□ havc bcen ful£11ed and hÍ9 relcaic achtcrcá. 
Upon which the King of Arm; and a puriuivant descended and 
with all solemnity took off from the Knighc's neck che iron 
collar. Of the tvtuturerBí oí challenger-knightt, no fcwer than 
nxty-eighc carne to thc jouttt, of whom one wis a Germán, ttro 
or diree írom Italy. onc from Britcany, and sereral from Ponag^ 
362 



AFPKNDIX D 



Don Ouixote 



Siz hundred and twenty-seven careers in all were run. One 
Knight, an Aragonese, was killed, and many were severely 
woundedy among them being Suero de Quiñones hímself and 
eighc of his companions. So ended this memorable passage oí 
arms, to the glory of Spain and of chivalry, thereafter to be 
known among all men as El Paso Honroso. 



363 



APPENDIX E 



DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO 

Thi ñame of Dulcinea del Toboso, the mistrcts oí Don Quíiote, 

who ie to this burlcsque Amadií a burlcsquc Oriana, has given 
rise to much spcculanon and has becn thc subjcci of much 
ingcniou; and elabórate guessing. In opposicion to tbOM fiho 
acccpt hcr as purely an abstract conceptíon, incendcd to tupplyi 
Íq [he action of thc siory, the indispensable motive lo thc Knigfai 
aeeking to revive ihe glories of che tncicnt Errantrjr, — there 
bcing no perfect Kníght, as we are told, wichouc a mistrc» as 
che iady of his hcaic and the object, inspiration, and guiding star 
of his career, — chcrc are critics, of the school of thciic who 
rcquirc a personal motive in evcry great work of humour, who 
insist tliat Cervantes had in hís eye tome real pcrsonagc, upon 
whoro he intended to dischargc thc bjtows of hia rídicute, jiut 
ti thcy will have it that Don Quixote himielf wa; meant to be 
a saiirc on somc livíng man of che auihor's time or of che patt. 
In our own days che lace Mr. Rawdon Browne, wích greai 
circurastantialicy, traced out a theory, in pursuance of his notion 
that Don QuíxdU was a saiirc upon the Duke of Lcrma, tbac the 
original of Dulcinea was a cclcbraied courc Iady of che period, 
the Marquesa del Valle. More pertincnt to thc matter and 
more dcscr^nng of notice is thc ingenious actcmpc by Don 
Cayetano de la Barrera, — following up a cine given by Cle- 
mencin, — to prove ihat the original of Dulcinea was a Iady 
residenc in che town of El Toboso, against whom Cervanc» had 
some kind of grudge. The story, as told at kngth in the notet 
to Barrcra's Nuet'/ii ¡«ftítigneionfi, in vol, i, p. 104 of the latger 
364 




Don Quixote 



jritfl)' as fallows : — In El Toboso, accord- 

cial report madc by otdcr of Philip II. in thc ycar 

uly hidalgo, or person entitled ro the privílcgc» of 

ideni among a population all kbouring mcn, chíc6y 

19 one Dr. Zarco de Morales, who had in only siscer 

illcd Ana, This lady \% presumed to have been born before 

5J7, from the íact ihst ihe date of her birth does not appear ía 

parish regisier, which begins frora that year, Dr. Morales 

self lived til! che ycar 1600. Hia parcnts were callcd Pedro 

rtinez Zarco and Catalina Morales. Upon the basis of thesc 

), supporced by the cradition that Miguel de Cervanceí, when 

wis al El Toboso, rcceived some il!-treatment at thc hands 

.he towns-people in cevcngc, as it is saíd, for some satirical 

3 which he WTOtc againsc a lady of che place, thcre has been 

>ua out, thiough thc ingcnuicy of Barrera, with considerable 

from ihc crypiogramic process, the theory that Ana Zarco 

Morales was the original of Dulcinea del Teéeie. Some of 

coincidenccs, — if coincidences only they are, — are certainly 

urious. Dulcinea is dcscríbed ín her cpitaph ac thc end of 

of " noble breed," with some of the " tokeni of the 

,d by her Knight himself, ¡n Part II. eh. mü., is 

of quality and well-born, and of the gentlc families which are 

El Toboso, which are many, ancienl, and very good." Agiin, 

lulcinea's real namc, we are told (Part I. ch. xxv,), waa Aldonza 

íogales. Now, Morales and Nogalri, as Navarrcce waa the first 

point out, are both natnes of trees (mulberry and walnnt), 

irordi of cqual Icngth, and consonanc rhymes. Morcover, in 

Ditleinea are contained che syllable an, the preposition de, and 

:he Iccters c and /, of the namc Ana Zarco de Morales. By 

jilting out the prominent letrera in this !ast namc, written 

Jjus :— aNA ZarCo DE mOraLEs, wc gct an anagram of 

Daleenea or Dolzenea, Ycc more ; the sharp cye of Sellor 

Hartzenbusch discovered that Dulcínea's mochcr bearíng che 

lame of Aldonza Nidales, and Ana Zarco'i mother havíng been 

calina Morales, — if we add thc de Co the last ñame and repeat 

' f, the n, and the a, wc ahall form thc namc Aldoniia Naeales. 

From all this, which is certainly curlous, the readcr may 



Don Ouixote 



beliere, ií he pleun, tiut Cervaniet liad a real ladjr 'm bit eje 
wbra be drew the ponnit of Dulcinea del Toboso ; and úai 
he inteaded (which ii a good itep fanher} bj the pictore ta 
gratifj an andcaí grndgc igainK ihc lown and the geaof oí 
El Toboso. It is quite ponible tkat Ccrrantci meant to haré 
a laagh agaiott the cown oT El Toboso ; a tovra thcn, as aem, 
certainlj not rcmarkible for i» ameniíiei of liic or chanctet. 
Bat in oppositioD to ihe theory thac he had a particalar ladf ¡Q 
hit miod a» the original of Dulcinea (suppotJRg the reaidcr not to 
be convinced from the wholc itruciurc of the fabte, as vreli u 
IVom ihe luthor's pcnitive issurince ' to that cfféct, thaC he laroie 
no siiircj, 1 nccd onlj stiic the literal fien. Cemnta coold 
hirdlj hive bcen in El Toboso, — ai I haré thown i 
nimtive of bis lifc, — mucb beforc the ycir 1 598,* whea i 
Zarco de Morales was a lady put the age of ftfiy. The f 
Pan of Den Quixnt was not publíshed til! seven fean a 
fóoj ; ihc Sccond Patt, wherein the fisit (o El Toboso a 
and Dulcinea, or bcr prototypc, aciually appea 
To fuppose che autbor capable of cheriíhing a 
tuch a lady for ío long a period is ao eitraragant conceit, | 
icarcely so wild a hypothe»is as to believc, — cvcn though bel 
spoken of bcr as bcing"thc best band at sahing pigs of J 
woman in La Mancha," — that be thoald dclíberately selec 
as bis beroine, to be embalmed for all posicrity ai 
of Don Quiíote. 

■ Nunca voló li plumi homildc mil. 
Por la ngion titiiici, bijcu, 
QiM á míuat» ptemioi j (jogniiu guia. 

— riafí J.I PanuK, á 
» ClnwodB uyi tlat Ccrnal» mighi havt li«n in El Tobn<o hi 
yan i;S4 lOi! i;Eg. Bul then it na cvidcnccofthii ; thit pericxl ce 
buim yan of híi voatiaa u ■ playwríghi, whcn he wu midlag, 
diowa. cithn it EiqnÍTiii or it Midrid. 



j66 



APPENDIX F 
LA MANCHA 



La Mancha, thc counoy of Don Quiíotc, and [he ícene, for 
ihc greater parí, of his journcys and adventures, is a district 
{¡mproperly spoken of as a provincej of New Castílc, forming 
thc somhernmost portion of thc great central lablc-land of 
Spain. Thc ñame Lo Mantha is, accordíng to thc best aathori- 
ties, from the Aiabic Mttnxa, signifying tierra stca, — " a dried-up 
línd," — also anciently termcd Eifartiiria, or thc countiy wherc 
thc típarto grasa i^Macreehha lena^inima) flourishes, the cmblem 
aad evidence of dryness. By the Spaniards, lo whom it aerved 
for roany ages as a natural barrier against thc Andalucian Moors, 
it was more anciently called Mente jímgsn (sce Peüicer, voÍ. v. 
p. +40), more properly La Mantha de Monte Aragón, someliraes 
shortened Ínto Mancha de Aragón. The boundaríes of the 
lerritory so called seera to have been always «omewhat looselj' 
delined, especially in the north, easi, and wesi ; but they maf 
be laken 10 be nearly the same as chose of the modcrn province 
of Ciudad Real, The souihern boundary of thc district is thc 
Sierra Morena. In thc time of Cervantes La Mancha wa» 
divided into Lowcr and Highcr, Lowcr La Mancha comprised 
the plains of Calacrava and Monticl, thc former being the more 
souihern, on ihc vcrge of New Castile, along ihe skirts of the 
Sierra Morena, Highcr La Mancha coniaíncd the v-illages from 
Villarubia to Belraonie, up to the slopes of ihe Sierra de Cuenca. 
La Mancha contaíns about 7500 square miles, wiih a population 
of 24.0,000, which gives only about 3; 10 ihc square mile. Il 
ays enjoyed the characcer of being the most backwaid in 

367 




Don Ouixote 



cmfiMlM^ mitmbr hivc ifce leait fároored portion of Spiia. 
The pnail ihMW n i of tbe coonby, wluch h m table-Und 
^^lif ^ihhtHg i fccleí* plñu u a mean hct^t of zoos feec 
afaaae Ae tes, caanM be better dcscribed dua m ibe «rordi of 
Kichgd Fod : — " D^aded of mes, it u eipoted to thc curaoj 
«ñiiy biMO, maá Konducd by thc calciníng tummer hnt 
tnray aad nid ia ihe eaitb. nbOe thc da*t, imprcgnated víita 
adtpenc, aad Ae feercc {Jare oí tbc tan, bllod thc cyc Wcvied 
«itfa |M O tp e m of «BifotlB ntbci^ and a total waat of evef^htng 
of ÍBtcfCM dtkcr Id nuii or kñ worki, or che natare witJt whicb 
he h nsfooBded, tbe tnrcUer a «ckcned witb the widc eipante 
of aeppa, úraone a* a twicc-told tale-" Tbere b Karcely 
nee to be teeo froai end to ead oF the district, exccpt a fc 
folicary p^lan and itnnted erergreen oaks whicb bave been 
uiffcrcd to lumvc, in tbe neigh.boattiood of ihe water-holn. 
The iadi^noiu vegetadoa chíefi^ coaiisu of broom, ihe blae 
fimc {trixj)^ proñue tniti of Tosemaxy, asiti, irtí, atid níld 
oaiocu TIk «oí] h a deep, «tif day, not :II adapted ta the 
growtk of cora, and beaxing bcavy crops of áne wheat ia s{Hie 
of the piimiiire agricalturc. Reccnüf, ihe growth of ihe vine 
ba* beca greatljr eitcndcd, — wine baving diiplaced whcat » the 
chief local product. The want of water n the great drawbict 
lo thc districi. There are no streams to spcib ot', excepi thc 
iluggiih and tiillea Goadiíaa, wich i» branchcs, whicfa takei Íi 
rise in the chiín of tbe Lagoons of Ruidcra. and punuei ii 
dcvious and cccentric coone through thc levcl pUin, sometinies 
disippciring ilcogeiher and procecding undergiound. The 
towns, [O quole Ford again, are "fcw and povcrty-sCricken 
they havc neiihcr art ñor commerce, and are dcvoid alíke of 
«ocial atcractioO) or inccrcsc. , . . Thc mud-built víHagcs are 
the abodei of nndct-fcd, tll-claihed hbourcrs ; bcsides che waoi 
of water, fucl n to scarcc that dry dung is subsdiutcd " (a» » 
common in Egypi and :n India). Sincc che days of Ford, who 
published che lirsc edición orhii famau» Handbook in iS^;, ibii 
piccure of poverty-airícken La Mancha must be a liicle modificd. 
Thcre has bcen a decided growth of projpcrity in thc diitricc, 
and evcn sonic sprouis of entetprijc are visible, for whicb the 
368 




Don Ouixote 



entrepCc of wca 
ihrough La Mancha, and mu: 
advantagc of that dislrícc, in 
chicf weahh, wcre the solé m 
such »¡ Atgamasilla itsclf, bea 



fiy/Zaxfra ín (hc vincyards of France U chtefly to be thsnked. 
Thcrc i» now a brisk trade in thc red winc of thc country 
(an excdlent bevcragc, rightly esteemcd by Sancho Panza, and 
descrvíng to be bciicr known in its purity to Englishmen) with 
Bordeaux, thc article bcing seni ihere to be lurned into claret, 
whiie brandy Í3 largely made for the Cognac merchanls. Scveral 
towna, 3& Tomelloso, unroentioncd by Cervantes, but now boast- 
¡ng of over 10,000 inhabítants, have sprung up into a hcalthy 
and robust eiistcncc on this new industry, In the days of 
Cervantes, La Mancha was probably a distríct of more general 
prospcrity and of greater relativo importance than Íi is now. 
All the traffic beiwecn the capital and what was then thc chicf 
centre of commerce, Sevillc, passcd 

jsl have lingcrcd on the road (o the 
thc days whcn asscs and routes, its 

acans of iraffic, Some of the towns, 
T disiinct cvidences of having bccn 
once more ihickly poputatcd than thcy are now. The highways, 
doubiless, wetc troddcn by a grcaicr oumber of traveücrs ; and 
meetings on the road wiih Toledo merchants going (o buy silk 
in Murcia, or friara carrying corpscs from Bacza to Segovia, 
which nowadays would be advcniures impossible, werc doubiless 
in that age common enough. I cannot help ihinking, also, that 
with all allowanee for the privücges of the story-tellcr, thc 
country must have been bctter wooded ihan it ¡s now, icnding 
to grcater aracnity of the landscapc, or we should scarcely have 
had thosc frcquent refercnces 10 shady trecs and pleasant groves 

II green grass, which are to be found in Don Quixoie, 
ÍThe population of La Mancha \i, to the eye, a vcry mized 
^ — an aspecl which is contirmed by their history. Thcy are 
■alien, dour, ilUfavoured pcople, crcdited, howevcr, with 
ctnain good qualitics such as thcir featurc scarcely proraiscs. 
Thcy are, according to Ford, honcst, paticnt, and hard-worji- 
ing; their affections more highly devcloped than their reason. 
"Températe, bravc, and moral, thc Manchegan is attached and 
confiding whcn kindly used and honcstly dealt wiih¡ rcservcd 
1 when hc auspects ill-trcatmcnt and injusdce"i ia 



Hi VOI, I 



369 



Don Quixote 



t tí DcM Qaíxa& b bcncr kaow daa ibaí of hñ 
r^ «in perceÍTc ib ihe atmi tí cmom ñtlw gt n , «w«ih | 
of cai^4cXMa, iritfc ■ ■Ja^cJ alimcM, Iubkmii, aad nA« in 
tbdr loob, wuuing «il]r ifce Ar^ ni cke Ifia j to be Uoon, 
BOR tfcaa 0(ve Sucbo Pana sBil Sicacc Thu cfaere wm * 
ideaeni oT Moon in La Maadu, wc know fina úk 
King Jajioe «f Ai^cat, tke Ctmqnerer, npcUed Bsof 
Él Moora fnm Vilcacú, > porMo of n^och, m «e tul^ 
■ver &(m thii ptndúc to Male ia La Maadui. Ag¡dii, 
■ñcr thc &U of Gmuda, miar Momea GunDies, to avoid tbe 
rígorotn comüdoKi whicli (in TioUtioa oí Ae pledges mailc at 
die csptobtifMi of tliat dtj) ircre únpoKd npoo tbem at Iwa^ 
enigrated aero» ihc moancaii» eo i land Icm agrccabte, iriíae, 
ko v tera, the^r were les* likeljr lo be diintTbed. In tbe time cf 
Philip IL, we kaow that a vcrv bigc proportion oT the nnnu- 
peoplc of La Mancba «me Moriicoc*, in whoK hands wcr 
Dcarlf all tke Irule and indoKrj of tbe ditmct. Ñor ís it 
likelf tbaí [facy wcre ill diinen oot bf tbe decree of expnkion 
in tbe luccecding reign — tbat cruel and barbarooi law bem 
wbich no pan ofSpiin luffcicd mote iban did La Mancha. 

Thit ¡> tbe couDtry ovet which ibc gcnius of Cemntc* kn 
ibed a hi]o of romance, wbich hat li'ghced up evcn ihat deaolne 
región, — which wíU gild for ever its homelj- fcaioref. And oT 
all countrics in Europe, — u ill who harc trarersed tlwMe unlcwdf 
pliíni will bear wítncis, — thcrc U nonc which could m> fitljf h«»« 
P been choicn i« tbe chcjcic of tbe lact eiploin of a djring cbivalry. 



EKO OF VOL. I. 



t. E: R, Cluüil. MiáKfmrft. 



THE COLLECTED WRITINGS 



THOMAS DE QUINCEY 

"The Engliah Opíum Eater" 

Neui and Enlarged Edition 

Edited BY DAVID MASSON, M.A., LL.D., 



With Portraits and other lUustrations, and contain- 
ing many Papers which have not hitherto appeared in 
the collecled form. 

Complete with General Index by H, B. Wheatley, 
in 14 Volumes. 

Crown 8vo. Price 35. 6d. each. Sets in Cioth 
extra, gilt top, £.2 : ios. Also to be had in Half Calf 
extra. 

ORDER OF THE SERIES | 

I, U. Autoblography. 

III. Autoblography and Llterary Remlnlseenoes. 

IV., V. Blographles and Blographic Sketches. 

VI., VIL Histoiical Essays and Researehas. 

VIII. Speculatlve and Theolo^cal Essays. 

IX. PoUtlcal Economy and Polltlcs. 

X-, XI. Papers of Uterary Theory and Ciitielsm. 

Zn., XUL Imafflnatlve Wríttngrs, including Suspirla da 
ProfUndis. 

XIV. Hlscellanles and General Index. 



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